Wolves' Winter
by Ms. Pagliacci
Summary: The town was no stranger to vicious attacks but can Dean and Sam stop them for good? Whumped!Dean in newest chapter.
1. White Wolf

**A/N: So…here's my first Supernatural fanfic! It's an AU-ish thing in which there's no contract on Dean's soul; and as far as Sam goes, I'm not sure if I'm going to do anything with his visions or not. It'll have lycanthropic, gory goodness (henceforth, the rating will probably go up). The werewolves aren't like they were in **_**Heart**_**; in my own terms, I'm striving to make them more "bad-ass". Not that it's really that important, but these 'WWW' represent a change in location/lapse in time/possible change in POV; while these 'SSS' represent a change in POV in the same location.**

**I'll admit that I, myself am partial to Dean but I promise I'll give equal time to Sammy! I love using descriptive details and developing characters; I hope I come up with some along the way that you'll find interesting. (Just be warned, not all of my characters will make it out alive!) On that note, I suppose I should mention that I don't own Dean or Sam (Hey, I can dream.) and am not making any money off of this; that should be about it. Enjoy!**

_Town of Van Auledge, 1884… _

Bethany slipped into her children's room and extinguished the kerosene lantern.

"Mommy, nooo," her youngest daughter, Sarah pleaded as she shifted on the bed she shared with her sister, Allison.

Bethany's eyes smiled in the darkness as she turned to her golden-haired five-year old who cringed as a November wind whistled outside.

"Shh…I'm here and Daddy's in the other room" Bethany said with maternal smoothness.

"But Mommy, that wolf's outside again."

Bethany and her husband, Paul had never encouraged Sarah in her fantasies about the wolf that she said was also a man, but yet the imaginary thing continued to haunt the child. Bethany had blamed Paul for telling Sarah horror stories about strange beasts, but he swore he'd done no such thing.

She took her daughter in her arms and gave each of the fingers on Sarah's right hand a quick kiss as the wind continued to wine outside. She could barely see her child's face in the dark but could feel her tiny body relax ever so slightly. Sarah wrapped her arms around Bethany's neck and rested her head against her mother's.

"He says you're very beautiful, Mommy."

"Who does?" Bethany asked, inadvertently allowing worry to tinge her words.

"The wolf"

"Sarah, you know there's no…"

Bethany's words were cut short as a wolf's voice entwined itself with the wind.

WWW

_Town of Van Auledge, Present…_

Anyone who saw her would convince themselves, for sanity's sake, that what they'd seen was a wolf, plain and simple. The truth was, real wolves hadn't congregated anywhere near the town of Van Auledge in decades and she was much larger and far more powerful than a wolf and probably any other forest creature for that matter.

The thick brush made it fairly easy for the white wolf to observe the town, the outskirts anyway, without attracting attention. She was unable to catch the fresh scents of others of her kind. Everything was quiet…for now.

The parking lot of the Adelson's Hotel was devoid of movement until a sleek, black vehicle pulled in. The white wolf's ears perked and her attention was focused solely on the figures that emerged: two strangers.

They were young. The one that stepped out of the driver's side door had harsher features than the other; but both carried himself in a manner that bespoke experience with peril. She could smell gun oil; but she doubted that their quarry was something as mundane as deer.

They were conversing about something when the taller, darker haired of the two shoved the other's shoulder. It wasn't an aggressive move; it was more playful. _Siblings_, she guessed.

Even after the two unfamiliar men disappeared into the hotel, she watched and waited.

SSS

"Why did you pick this place, Sam?" Dean asked as he tilted his chair backward and propped his feet on the hotel room desk.

"Because something evil's killing people."

"No, I mean this hotel." Dean gestured at the lavender wall paper, making his discontent known.

"It just doesn't fit," Sam said, hitting several keys on his laptop.

"You're tellin' me. Who picked the wallpaper? Elton John?"

"The lunar cycle, Dean; these killings don't fit it."

Dean sighed, dragging his mind back to the task at hand. The wooden chair beneath him creaked as he leaned further back, now balancing on two of the legs.

"Well, if it's not werewolves, what is it? I mean, what else slashes people up and chows down on their hearts?"

"Maybe…" Sam's voice trailed off, unable to think of anything.

Dean massaged his temples. "Maybe you're a crack-whore."

Sam powered down his computer, then stood up and began to cross the room to the water cooler. Kicking the legs of Dean's chair out from beneath him was almost too tempting.

"Don't even think about it." Dean said, as though he'd read his mind.

Sam drank his water and sat on a bed; Dean tapped the silver ring on his right hand against the chair; each wracked his brain for answers that were not exactly forthcoming.

"I don't know what it is." Sam said, finally.

Dean stood and put his pearl-handled Colt 1911 in his waistband.

"Alright, Agent Hammet," he said. "Let's interview the locals."

Sam looked at his older brother and wondered if Dean realized how much, even with so few words, he reminded him of their father.

"Dean," Sam said as Dean threw his leather jacket on.

"_Hey_," Dean said in a dead-serious tone. "It's Agent Hetfield of Animal Control." Dean gave a fleeting grin and waited for Sam to get his chromed Beretta 92FS and follow.

Outside, Sam walked around the front of the Impala and slowed his pace as he gained the distinct feeling that he was being observed by something. His eyes darted to the woods that, even in the afternoon light, seemed capable of hiding the worst evils. Dean pulled the driver's side door open but paused before getting in. He looked across the Impala's roof at Sam, who was staring at the woods.

"Hey, Dee Wallace, what are you looking at?"

Sam turned and looked at Dean with a wrinkled brow.

"As cliché as this may sound, I just got the feeling something's watching us."

Dean knew better than to shrug off Sammy's feelings. He too scanned the tree line and as he did so, was unaware that his right hand had begun to wander toward the gun in his waistband. He felt it too but when not so much as a chipmunk made an appearance, Dean decided it was time to go.

"C'mon," he said, tapping the car roof slightly.

"Are we going to check out the Coroner?"

"If the Coroner's a _she_ and is hot, then yeah."

WWW

The Coroner's office was a small, brick building situated next to Trafford's Funeral Home. Dr. Grace Trafford, Coroner; had married Ray Trafford, Van Auledge's primary undertaker. They were the butt of many morbid jokes around town, but loved each other and the community no less.

Grace sighed as she shut the drawer containing what remained of Jeff Saunders' body. He was the fourth person in the past two months to have been mutilated in such a manner and there was also a cattle mauling; she knew of other, similar killings that had taken place before she was elected Coroner. Of course there were whispers around town; suggestions of what could have done it; both police and animal control stated that it was a large, predatory animal. She had been weaned on the town's old stories about strange howling and huge wolves that weren't really wolves; she knew all too well the vein that these maulings struck within the citizens of Van Auledge.

She sat in her leather, swivel chair at her desk, ran a hand through her graying brown hair and eyed her untouched salad. Eating lunch even after examining (or re-examining, as the case was) a body was rarely a problem; but the situation drove her appetite away. It seemed to her that the town she was raised in was collapsing into some Lovecraftian universe. Animals that may as well have been phantoms were killing people; and then there was that missing baby…

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the metal doors at the end of the hallway groan open. Grace stood and walked outside her office. A petite red headed woman was walking in her direction, obviously resolute; she was tailed closely by two young men who seemed every bit as determined to complete whatever task they had in mind.

"Hi; are you Dr. Trafford?" the too-happy-for-a-morgue young woman asked in a southern drawl as she extended a hand. In the back of Grace's mind, she wondered where the girl was from as she could not place her accent.

"Yes," Grace answered, accepting the offered hand and looking at the young woman with arched eyebrows. "How can I help you?"

"My name's Toni Kiedis, I'm with the Bradford Standard. I was wonderin' if I could have a minute of yer time."

The red-head smiled ingratiatingly; really it aggravated Grace and the fact that she was a reporter didn't help her case. Not to be outdone, one of the men stepped in front of Toni, only giving the southerner the slightest glare from the corner of his eye.

"Hi, ma'am, I'm Agent Hetfield with Animal Control and I…"

"_One_ at a time. Please." Grace said, holding up her index finger. Her words came out more harshly than she had intended, but it produced the effect she desired.

Toni and Hetfield looked at her as though they were children who'd just been reprimanded; the third was regarding the reporter with what Grace thought looked like awkward amusement.

"Ms. Kiedis," Grace said in a measured voice, "if you step into my office, I'll answer whatever questions I can."

Toni didn't have to be told twice she slipped into the Coroners office with a sly backward glance but Grace didn't take notice.

"Agent Hetfield, I'll be with you just as soon as I'm done with Ms. Kiedis, and…" she looked at the other man as she pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up farther on the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, uh…Agent Hammet, Animal Control, ma'am." The taller one stuttered as he straightened his posture.

Grace nodded and disappeared inside her office.

SSS

"Did you see the way she hurried her skinny little ass in here from the parking lot just to beat us?" Dean grumbled as he sat on a wooden bench outside the office with his elbows resting on his knees. "Damn rubberneck," he muttered.

"I don't think she's a reporter, Dean." Sam said with a slight smile on his lips.

"Why not?"

"_Anthony_ Kiedis is the lead singer of The Red Hot Chili Peppers."

"So what; you think that little ray of sunshine hunts?" Dean asked, obviously hoping the answer was in the negative.

Sam shrugged with his eyebrows.

"I think she's up to something. I guess Toni Kiedis isn't as subtle as the lead singer and guitarist of Metallica." Despite all of his best efforts to ignore Dean's lectures about the glories of classic rock, Sam had still absorbed information he didn't necessarily care to be knowledgeable about.

Dean grinned, obviously pleased, and perhaps even proud, that Sam had remembered.

Sam just rolled his eyes and shook his head. His thoughts returned to the faux reporter, wondering what route to take with her. He hoped that she really was a reporter and that her name was just an odd coincidence, but something in the glances (or more accurately: glares) she had exchanged with he and Dean told him that cooperation was not a part of her vocabulary. Besides, he'd learned long ago not to put much stock in 'coincidences'.

"You think we should ask her to leave?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. Hunters always seemed to be territorial…about everything really. Sam suspected that it was a mask to disguise the fact that they didn't want to be close to any more people than they had to be. After all, a hunter's career was usually spawned from bereavement.

Then again, there were those psychotic hunters who gave Sam and Dean every reason not to trust others. Sam really doubted that the red-head with the fake name and almost-as-fake southern accent would amount to as much trouble as Gordon Walker, though.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "Bertrand Russell said 'The only thing that will redeem mankind is cooperation'."

"Who?"

"Never mind, I'm just saying that we don't know for sure what we're getting into and having someone else around might not be such a bad thing."

"Yeah, maybe you two could do each other's nails."

Dean was obviously not an exception to Sam's territorial-hunter theory.

Sam left the issue go and sat down on the bench too. Dean stood up and leaned against the opposite wall. No offense was meant by it, Sam knew.

SSS

After walking the length of the hall several times, Dean found himself looking at a bulletin board. There was a flier for Trafford's Funeral Home among other things. _Wow_, Dean thought, _she must have the monopoly on Death around here_. His attention was drawn to a small, white slip of paper. In an elegant font was:

_A man does not die of Love or his liver or even of old age; he dies of being a man._

_-Percival Arland Ussher _

Dean snorted at this and crossed his arms over his chest. _You don't know the half of it, Percy_, he thought.

"What do you think?"

Dean wanted her gone, but he would have been just as happy to leave 'Toni' do as she damn well pleased (from what he could tell, she probably would anyway) if it meant getting the job done faster.

"Let's just talk to the Coroner."

"Not check her out?"

Dean chuckled at this. "Whatever, dude; you're the cougar-hound."

"No, I meant 'Toni'," Sam said, not appreciating Dean's allusion to Mrs. or, _Ms._ Case in the least.

The door opened and Toni emerged with her mouth set into a dissatisfied frown. She turned and handed a slip of paper to the Coroner.

"I'll be in touch," she said.

_What a drama queen_, Dean thought; then, _she and Sam would get along perfectly_.

Before marching down the hall and out the door, she tossed her head and let her emerald gaze shift from one brother to the other. Dean wondered if she knew they were hunting.

Dr. Trafford stepped out of her office with crossed arms and watched Toni go before addressing Dean and Sam. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

Dean could tell that she was really trying to remain patient. Van Auledge was a small town, so Dean didn't doubt that seeing her fellow townspeople dispatched in such a brutal way was taxing on the Coroner's nerves.

"We appreciate you seeing us at such short notice, ma'am," Sam began. "We were sent here to investigate the similarities between these killings and several cattle maulings in Brighton County."

_That sounds about right_, Dean thought.

"I suppose you'll need to see the body, then?" She asked.

"If that's possible," Sam replied in his most polite tone.

"Yeah," she said, "follow me."

The morgue was kept considerably cooler than the rest of the building. They followed the older woman, steeling themselves for whatever atrocity they would see. The compartment holding Jeff Saunders or what was left of him anyway was rolled open, revealing something that made Dean's stomach clinch, banishing his enthusiasm for a late lunch.

At first, Dean was unsure if what he was looking at what used to be a human. Muscle had been chewed from limbs, exposing the bone in some places; a hand was missing and the opposite arm was chewed almost the entire way through, and the throat was in a similar condition. Only about half of the flesh on his face –nose not included –remained. That the chest cavity had been ravaged was not surprising but the way in which the ribs seemed to protrude was grotesque. Perhaps what was most disarming was the leg…or lack there of.

From beyond the masticated muscle, bone protruded. It looked as though it had been splintered and gnawed. It was not the work of any man-made mechanism, but of the jaws of a predator.

"He was hunting when he was attacked; he didn't even get a shot off with his rifle." Dr. Grace Trafford did not strike Dean as a particularly breakable woman, but her voice was quiet, and far tenderer than it had been earlier. "He was found two days ago in the afternoon by several other hunters; he would have been killed sometime in the small hours of the morning.

"He's the fourth one to have been killed like this in the past two months, and the second hunter; the other hunter, Ralph Norris, was found two weeks ago under similar circumstances. The second killing occurred five days before that; he was a homeless man and was found along the road. The first one was killed a month ago. Harry Clemet was a drunk, he stumbled out of the bar and his body was found about a mile away the next morning."

Dr. Trafford produced three pairs of Latex gloves, handed two each to Sam and Dean, then pulled on a pair herself, though she didn't seem to take notice when neither brother made a move to touch the body; they could only manage to put on the gloves and watch as she prodded the ruined body.

"These things have got to be extremely powerful," she said with both restrained fear and a tinge of awe in her voice.

"I'm sorry…thing_ssss_." Dean said with special emphasis on the plurality of the word.

"Yes," she said as she ushered him over; she was gaining back the professionalism in her voice. "The bite wounds that I was able to measure have variables; there are several different sizes. One measure about five inches across, another measure four and another measures three. Do you think bears could have done this?"

"No," Sam said without missing a beat, "They'd be hibernating."

Dean was impressed; he would have frozen because his knowledge of bears did not extend very far beyond Yogi Bear being chased by Ranger Smith for stealing pic-a-nic baskets.

"I knew that," she said as she smiled and laughed –albeit without humor -obviously embarrassed to have even said that. "It's just that no one seems to know what is going on and people are getting scared."

Dean and Sam both nodded sympathetically and when they didn't say anything, she continued.

"I feel I should tell you that there's a lot of lore in this town…"

"What lore?" Dean interrupted, letting a little more enthusiasm enter his voice than he perhaps should have.

Dr. Trafford glanced at him awkwardly and he shifted his glance away. _Smooth move, Winchester, real smooth; _he thought.

"Well," she said, as though she were unsure how to begin, "Even before these killings, there were others like them. Inevitably, they spawned stories about monsters. I don't know how much help it would be, but our library has some really great old books about it, assuming they're still around."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other.

"It couldn't hurt to check," Sam said with a small shrug.

"It's on Main Street; between the bank and post office; it's pretty hard to miss."

They nodded.

"Oh," she said as though she'd forgotten something she shouldn't have, "have you been to the Bradley's farm yet? They had one of their bulls mauled two nights ago; you might want to talk to them."

"No, we haven't," Dean said. "Could you tell us where it is?"

"If you turn left off of Main Street once you've passed the gas station…" she paused. "Aw, screw it; I'll just write it down for you because I know what a pain in the ass small-town directions can be to remember." She slid the cadaver's drawer shut; Dean would not have admitted to it, but he was relieved.

Back in her office, she wrote the directions to the Bradley's farm down in her precise handwriting, she began to hand it to Sam, but Dean snatched it away before he could get it. Dr. Trafford offered a wan smile at the "Agent's" rather immature gesture.

"Thank you for your time," Dean said, truly appreciative of the information.

"I only wish I could tell you more."

Despite the chill in the air, it was a beautiful day in mid-November and the sun glinted off of the Impala's clean, black roof. It did Dean's heart good to see it.

"Did you hear what she said about wolves, Dean?"

"I was standing right there."

"What now?" Sam asked as he took he stood by the passenger-side door, waiting to be let in.

Dean rested his elbows on he roof and looked over at Sam.

"You go to the library and do the dweeb thing and I'll go to the Bradley's farm," he held up the piece of paper with directions on it, "and look for…stuff."

Sam nodded, clearly having anticipated his response.

Dean then concentrated on the figure leaning against the railing outside the Coroner's office, wondering how he missed her in the first place. Her hair was the palest blonde he'd ever seen; she was beautifully proportioned and…she was looking at them.

_Wow_, was the only thing he could think before his charm took him over.

He smiled at her, a gesture that always evoked a reaction from women. A few –the uptight ones –would roll their eyes and walk away with their noses in the air but most would smile back or twirl her hair around her finger or jut her hip out alluringly; or any combination of movements that said: _Where's the nearest empty room?_

Not this one, though. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side as though wondering what the smile meant, turned and walked around the corner and out of sight. Dean had an almost over-powering urge to follow her.

Apparently, Sam had taken notice of her too. After a moment the two looked at each other. Sam's eyebrows were bunched.

"Did you get a funny feeling about her?" he asked.

Dean looked downward slightly and then grinned smarmily.

"Yeah," he said. "I did."

WWW

Dean pulled down the long driveway to the Bradley's farm. On his right was a chestnut mare that seemed to regard the Impala curiously, as if she knew it was different, while the cows in the pasture on his left chewed their cud with bovine indifference. The gravel crunched under the car as it moved slowly toward the main house.

He knocked on the front door and while he waited he looked around at the farm. Black fences separated the wide estate into paddocks and several white and black barns stood a slight distance away from the house; a handsome place to live.

The door swung open and a broad old man opened the door.

"Yes?" he said, looking Dean up and down as though deciding whether or not he was a threat.

"Hello, sir," Dean started." I'm Agent Hetfield of Animal Control. I was told that one of your bulls was mauled several days ago and I was wondering if I could have a look around and perhaps have you answer a few questions."

"Thought Animal control was already hear," Bradley said, raising his brushy, white eyebrows.

"Yes," Dean said, fully expecting that. "There have been several similar killings from Brighton County and I've been sent here to investigate."

Bradley nodded and stepped out, leaving the oak door open.

"Two nights ago," he began, "Musta been about nine o'clock, our dogs were out in their kennels goin' crazy and…"

"Charles Bradley, you shut that front door right _now_!" came a woman's voice from somewhere inside the house.

An expression that was equal parts aggravation and adoration crossed Bradley's face. His barrel chest expanded with a sigh. "That would be the missus," he said.

Before Bradley could move to shut the door, an elegant woman in her sixties bustled to the door and then stopped and joined them on the porch after shutting the door. She gave Dean much the same once-over as her husband did. "Who's this, Charlie?"

"Oh," Dean said, as he extended a hand; he knew who was running the show here. "I'm Agent Hetfield of Animal Control and…"

"My name's Joanne, I can show you where it happened; but the body was already destroyed."

"That's alright, ma'am," he said, liking the fact that she got right to the point. "If you could just tell me what you remember and show me where it happened, I can be out of your hair."

Joanne stepped off the porch and Dean and Charlie followed.

"Two nights ago, the dogs were going out of their minds, so…"

"I ran out of the house with a shotgun when I heard the ruckus," Charlie added. He reminded Dean of Bobby.

"Charlie, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with that rifle…"

Charlie smiled sheepishly. "Never have been much good with a gun," he confessed.

Listening to the couple banter was both great and terrible at the same time. Dean knew that he had long since foregone any hope of having a family life like that (not that he was sure if he wanted one in the first place) but knowing that what he and Sam did allowed people to live happy, blissfully ignorant lives helped; most of the time. And when it didn't; well, they had each other and he would never let anybody change that.

By the time they were finished summing up the story, Dean had learned that the bull –George was its name –they allowed to have free range of a stall and pasture was killed by something or something_s_ they didn't get a look at and because of the struggle the bull put up, it was difficult to make out any track marks.

Dean surveyed the damage done to the iron pen the bull had been kept in. The tracks left by the vehicles that had been used to take the animal's body away made it impossible for him to distinguish any track other tracks. In several places, the bars on the pen were bent where George had slammed into them. Dean tried to imagine the fear the animal must have felt before the end.

He joined the couple outside the pen and for a few minutes, all three stared off into the distance.

"It's a terrible thing," Joanne finally spoke up as she ran a hand through her bobbed, white hair. "We've had these killings and no one knows what's going on."

_Believe me, Lady,_ Dean thought, _you don't wanna know._

"Our grand daughter's half afraid to come over and go horseback riding." Charlie added dismally.

"I know our town has its stories, but those old yarns are becoming a little too real," Joanne continued. "In the past two months we've had four people killed and a baby went missing."

"A baby went missing?" Dean asked; his curiosity very much peaking.

"Yeah," Joanne said as though she could barely believe it herself. "Five days ago; little Abigail Ray. Her parents were killed in a car accident and then the next night, she was stolen out of her foster parents' home. No one saw a _thing_."

WWW

The smell of dust and paper greeted Sam as he stepped into The Van Auledge Free Library; it was dimly lit and he found himself feeling oddly at home. A short, plump woman sat behind a broad desk reading a book. The name plate on the front of her desk read: NORMA.

Norma looked up and smiled at him as she set her book down.

"Hello, honey, how can I help you?" This woman had to be someone's grandma; Sam would not have been shocked to learn that she regularly baked apple pies for church bake-sales.

"Hi," he said. He smiled pleasantly and then made his voice take on a more grave tone. "I'm in town investigating the animal killings and I was told that the library might have some books –old books –that might help"

Norma's face took on a saddened, more somber expression. "You're the second one today come in here askin' for those books, but I'm sure you can get a look too," she said.

"Huh," he said, pretending to be surprised. He had a pretty good idea who the other person was. _Great_, he thought.

"We'll have to go to the basement; you'll be able to read newspaper reports down there too." Norma said as they began walking.

"Thank you so much," he said.

As they walked, Sam observed his surroundings. If he were there under different circumstances, he would have liked to spend more time there. For such a small town, the library was quite expansive. The beige walls were adorned with prints; most depicting woodland scenes but one in particular caught his eye. The print was predominantly white. There was snow on the ground and birch trees in the background. In the foreground was a white wolf; it seemed as though its silver eyes were staring straight into his.

"Do you like that one?" Norma asked, joining Sam at his side. "It was done by a local artist; he's also a doctor at the local hospital."

"Yeah," Sam said, having difficulty pealing his own eyes from the wolf's. "It's beautiful." That was the truth; it was beautiful but the knowledge that the wolf's eyes seemed to possess was almost unnerving. _Okay, Sam get a grip; it's a painting_, he mentally scolded himself.

"Doctor Bishop is very talented; maybe you'll get to meet him."

Sam smiled, nodded and followed Norma down several flights of stairs. The building was undoubtedly old and Sam wondered if any spirits resided there. He was tempted to ask Norma's opinion, but refrained from doing so. That would probably be right up there with 'Oh, and by the way, do you have a pack of werewolves running amok through your town?'

"Well," Norma said, "I'd better get back upstairs, good luck finding information."

"Thank you."

The research room had five desks; on top of each was a computer. One was on. The girl who called herself Toni Kiedis sat in front of the computer with books stacked on either side of her. Everything was silent except for the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. Sam suspected he was being ignored.

He cleared his throat and only then did she turn around.

"Wonders never cease," she said, letting out a breath that was clearly intended to be unwelcoming. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Sam decided to try to play nice; in the back of his mind he was glad that he and not Dean was the one to meet her. Now, as she looked at him, Sam could see that she was barely more than a girl; he would have been surprised if she was more than twenty years old. Her green eyes regarded him coolly.

"You're not a reporter are you?"

"Yeah, I'm a reporter," she said; "as much as you are an Animal Control officer." Any trace of her Southern 'accent' was gone.

"Fair enough," he said, attempting to smile. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Hi," she said, looking beyond Sam and not responding with her own name. "Where's the other guy?"

"Dean, my brother. He's doing some digging elsewhere; a bull was mauled on a farm and he went to go talk to the owners."

She nodded and turned back to her research. He approached her desk and casually picked up a book and began to flip through it, not necessarily looking for information, but trying to get a feel for the other hunter. He wondered what tragedy drove her on her mission.

When he wasn't acknowledged, he spoke up. "We can help each other, you know. It'll be safer that way and…"

"_Look_," she said as she brushed her red hair from her neck and pulling her blue tee shirt away exposing her collar bone, "The last time I teamed up with anyone to hunt werewolves, it didn't turn out so well for me, alright?"

Sam could see the beginnings of four scars that undoubtedly ran far below her shirt. He was sorry to see that.

"I'm…" Sam began.

"Don't be sorry." She growled.

"I was going to say 'here if you need help'." He said, allowing a little more aggravation to creep into his voice than he wanted. He was sorry for her, he couldn't help that, but he also knew that bemoaning the life of a hunter –especially when it was the life that you've chosen –would not help anyone. After all, he and Dean had been hunting since childhood. "We don't even know if they're werewolves or not; the killings don't fit the lunar cycle."

The observation was rewarded with silence.

As he decided to scan the town's newspaper archives, his cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

_"Sam,"_ Dean's voice came over the line, _"I was just talking to the Bradley's and you might want to look for reports with missing babies. Five days ago, I guess a kid got snatched out of its crib."_

"Alright; anything else?" Sam said, forgetting to tell Dean that he had a study 'buddy'.

_"Yeah,"_ Dean said, _"Don't be a bitch."_

The line was disconnected and Sam rolled his eyes as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket._ Missing babies?_

WWW

Dean flipped his phone shut with a grin and walked back over to Joanne and Charlie. They were, by that point in time arguing about something else.

"Thank you for your time," he said, rejoining them by the pen.

"Not a problem," Joanne said, crossing her arms over her chest against the growing chill in the air.

"Well, I'd better get going," Dean said.

He started walking toward the car, but stopped when he heard both Joanne and Charlie gasp. He looked in the same direction they were and saw a flash of white move in the woods. Without a second's hesitation, he drew his Colt 1911 and trained it on the tree line.

"What is that?!" Joanne and Charlie both shouted as they looked from the gun to the woods and back to the gun again. Dean would have found it comical if he'd been watching.

"Uh…tranquilizer gun," Dean said and charged toward the woods, not really worrying about whether or not they bought it.

He failed to mention the fact that a well-placed shot would tranquilize the beast on a permanent basis.

**A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm currently working on the second chapter, so let me know what you think; reviews are appreciated very muchly and are treated with love. In each chapter I'm going to try to incorporate tidbits of werewolves in pop-culture and werewolf lore into my story. When Dean called Sam "Dee Wallace" it was a reference to **_**The Howling**_**, a classic werewolf movie (and if you haven't seen it yet, you should!!!). **

**The name of the town, Van Auledge is an anagram I came up with for Le Gevaudan. It was a French city in which many people were killed by an as-of-yet unidentified predatory animal. It's a very fascinating story closely related to werewolves; a good site to look at if you're interested is: ****http://labete. happy hunting, everybody and have a very Merry Christmas! (And, in the event that I don't post before then, a Happy New Year!)**


	2. Appearance

**A/N: Thank you, Eureka26 and LoupGarouAngel for your kind reviews! I Hope you all enjoy this new chapter; I'm havin' fun writing it! **

The need to get to her home prompted her to move from her position at the woods' edge. Her observation of the town and the hunters –for that's what she was now certain the young men were –had taken her away for too long now. Now one was pursuing her, she knew; but she felt confident that she could lose him.

The white wolf treaded with speed and grace over fallen tree trunks and debris on the forest floor but was intentionally leaving a trail that would be, for any tracker, painfully easy to follow. Not even going as fast as she could, she allowed her feet to dig up more of the earth than was necessary, brushed against bushes to leave behind some loose fur and slashed claw marks into defenseless tree trunks.

SSS

Dean wasn't exactly sure what he'd seen, but judging from the claw marks in the ground, whatever it was, would be more than a match for any werewolf he'd ever seen. It was traveling on all fours with a stride of about twelve feet; its hind legs leaving deeper gashes in the ground than the forelegs.

He barely stopped at a bush that held hair that was pure white. He did halt, however when he came across deep claw marks in the trunk of a sycamore. He ran his fingers along the marks in the mottled bark, trying to imagine the beast that left them. Dean was thankful that he was only following_ one_ set of tracks.

_Lon Chaney Jr.'s got nothing on you_, he thought.

WWW

Sam had told Toni about the tip Dean had given him, hoping that confiding in her would make her…friendlier. It didn't, not really, but they shared in the effort.

"I can't find anything," she said after a while. "Someone probably just took off with the baby and it's not even related. So, in all, this has been a giant waste of time."

Sam didn't say so –Toni was quickly wearing his patience thin –but he had to agree with her on that point. They could find no other outstanding reports about missing babies and few children seemed to go missing in Van Auledge.

Once they'd backed away from that dead end, they busied themselves compiling information on the town and every related killing they could find. They exchanged few words, but multiple uncomfortable glances; neither wanted the other there. Sam stretched his long legs out beneath the desk as he read old news reports and Toni paced with a book cradled in her left arm.

"These killings go a ways back," she said. "This book says at least fifteen people were killed around here in eighteen eighty-four and they stopped after a huge wolf was killed. Go figure."

"I've counted at least fourteen similar killings since the eighties," Sam said; "Some of them are pretty interesting."

Toni hovered over his shoulder as he read aloud some of the news reports.

WWW

After about two and a half miles, the tell-tale signs of the beast's trail seemed to disappear. Dean cursed under his breath, although he could have screamed at the top of his lungs and probably no one would have heard or cared. The thing must have doubled back on him, but how?

Gun in hand, he went a little further, tracing over the ground, but it was fruitless. No tracks, no fur, no scratches…and the sun was setting. From what the Coroner had told him and Sam, these things tended to hunt at night; the thought didn't exactly please him.

He sniffed in; the chilled evening air was having an effect on his nose. Kleenexes weren't something he and Sam typically concerned themselves with; so he didn't bother checking his pockets for any.

_Wonderful_, he thought; _no snot-rags_.

The two and a half mile hike back to the Impala would give him time to reflect on the loss of the trail. He still wanted to find another trail and follow it, but even he knew there was a difference between doing something ill-advised that would get results and doing something utterly stupid that would get you killed.

The trail had been so clear and then just _poof_, gone. The thing had lead him several miles into the woods and had managed to evade him.

_Evade me?_ The thought seemed bizarre even to him; he was confident in his ability to defend himself, but he'd seen what these things could do. They hunted, killed and…what if it was deliberate? What if a trap had been set for him and it was about to spring? How could he have fallen for that?

He felt his heart rate escalate ever so slightly as he quickened his pace; the thought of being pureed like that poor bastard in the morgue spurring him on. He moved swiftly back the way he came as the light steadily dimmed.

WWW

Doctor Garrett Bishop leaned on the doorway of the room that had been converted into a nursery as he contemplated the funny turns life had a tendency to take. Hell, some of them were down right hilarious; like housing a kidnapped baby; that was pretty funny.

Abigail –Abby –was asleep at last, bundled in sheets for warmth.

_Where is she?_ He wondered, hoping he would soon be relieved of his babysitting duties. He'd already called the hospital to say he'd be late for his shift that was due to start in fifteen minutes.

He scratched his chin, wondering if he should shave the goatee he had grown. When he asked his co-workers their opinion on it, they had told him it gave him a more distinguished look. As the statement was not accompanied by snickers, he could only assume they were being honest. He was not a vain man, not by any means. In fact, he wore Hawaiian shirts under a white lab coat when on the job. He decided that the goatee was going to go.

What he really wanted to do was retire; just retire, work on his prints of forest landscapes and maybe publish the book he'd written…

A floorboard in his old farmhouse creaked, disrupting his thoughts. He turned, expecting to see what would appear to most to be a young woman, but there was no one there. Either he was hearing things or his house was haunted; neither option was unlikely, he decided.

Turning, he found himself staring into a pair of silver eyes; he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You have…" he shouted, then looked toward the sleeping baby "…you have _really_ got to stop doing that!" he yelled in a startled whisper.

"Sorry, Gary," she said with a chuckle that suggested she was anything but. She bustled over to the crib to peer down at the infant. He resigned himself to the likelihood it would happen again.

"You know," he said. "It's only funny until someone drops over dead of a heart attack."

"Then it's hilarious," she said smiling smartly, but not taking her gaze away from Abby.

"I've got to go," he said, unable to stop the smile on his face.

"Hey," she said; her tone more somber. "We've got to talk when you get back."

WWW

"_...and the earth becomes my throne, I adapt to the unknown, Under wandering stars I've grown, By myself but not alone, I ask no one…"_ Dean sang –albeit, off key –as he went.

The sun had almost sunk completely and he wasn't out of the woods yet. He walked and walked some more, his attention divided between squinting at the trail and trying to imagine the beast –or beasts –he and Sam were after. He only saw a blur of white and nothing more; not a whole lot to go on. Hopefully, Sam had turned up something at the library.

A few paces ahead, he ran face-first into a low-hanging tree branch. After sputtering some curse words and batting the hateful branch away with his arms, he moved several paces to his left when one of his boots decided to lodge itself under a root.

When he tried to pull his foot out, it stayed stuck. "Damn it," he muttered and kicked at the root with his free foot. It didn't take him long to figure out that that wasn't a good idea. His gun flew from his hand as he fell backwards, twisting his ankle; not enough to really hurt him, but enough to piss him off more.

"Damn it!" he said with more feeling, as he slammed both of his fists into the dirt. He began moving his foot back and forth and backwards as he wondered how the hell he'd managed to get his foot wedged so tightly beneath the root; it was like he it had wrapped itself around his boot.

_Must be in an _enchanted_ forest_, his mind grumbled as he kept the gun in his vision, wriggled his foot some more and wondered; _why didn't I bring a flashlight? Aw, well, at least it's not a train track I'm stuck on._

His foot came loose and he reached for the comfort of his Colt's pearl handle. Gripping it with an odd affection, he stood and dusted himself off.

About a hundred feet away, a branch snapped.

Dean brought the Colt up in the direction of the noise and waited for whatever was there to make its move as he glared into the darkness.

WWW

"Some of those are…interesting," Toni said, as she stepped away from the computer and picked up another seemingly ancient text.

Sam nodded. "We still have no idea what we're dealing with, though."

"No, but I'm still keeping silver in my guns."

"Yeah; I mean, it's not like a Wendigo, not the way the bodies are turning up and all."

"You've hunted a Wendigo?" Toni asked, curiosity peeking in her voice.

"You make it sound like it was a deer," Sam said with a slight chuckle.

"Nah, it's just that my mo…um, werewolves are kind of my specialty and I don't really think of all those other critters out there."

"Dean and I have hunted a lot of, uh…critters."

Toni nodded and gave the closest thing to a genuine smile he had seen on her face. Who said they couldn't relate? In the back of his mind, he wondered where Dean was. It had to have been getting dark out. _How long could it possibly take to talk to some locals? Even if they had invited Dean to stay for dinner, as it was getting to be about that time, Dean wouldn't have stayed…well, probably not, anyway. _Sam tried to refrain from worrying.

"Oh, well this is just precious," a familiar voice said from behind them. "Hey, Ginger and Brigitte, you wanna fill me in?"

Sam turned to see Dean leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest and a less than thrilled expression on his face.

"Hey, Dean;" Sam said in a light tone, praying Dean wouldn't alienate a possible ally. "Did you find anything out?"

"Yeah," Dean said without taking his eyes off of Toni. "I found out that not every branch that snaps ominously in the dark is a monster and that whatever we're dealing with is furry, fast and smart."

"You saw it?" Sam asked, excited.

"I saw a _blur_ of it; that mother was movin'. I followed its track for about two miles and the trail just suddenly stopped; almost like it intentionally led me out there."

"Maybe you just can't track." Toni suggested, returning Dean's glare.

"Oh, sweetheart;" Dean said, grinning with his mouth but not his eyes. "I can track and I can also trap. Sometimes it's just a matter of using the right bait. You up for it, Little Red?"

"Dean!" Sam interrupted sharply, knowing that Dean was most likely not serious and that his immature remarks were only going to serve to hurt their case.

"What?"

"We've found some stuff, but nothing that concludes what these things are." Sam said, trying to ease the tension in the room.

"Like…"

"Toni and I found at least twenty-four other deaths that could be linked to this; but something's weird."

"_Weird?_" Dean and Toni said simultaneously.

"Okay, out of the ordinary; even by our standards." Sam amended. "Including the most recent killings, there have been twenty-nine. Everything seemed to start in eighteen eighty-four; at least fifteen people were killed. The deaths stopped when a wolf was killed. Then there was another string of killings in the early eighties where five people were mauled and de-hearted."

"Sam, there's nothing especially 'weird' about that." Dean interjected as he pulled a seat catty-corner to Sam at the desk while Toni stood leaning against the wall, reading and listening at the same time.

"You didn't let me finish." Sam said, frowning. "In ninety-five there were four killings. The _weird_ thing is these ones were all criminals. There were two pedophiles, a rapist and a man who was tried for but not convicted of murder."

"So, what?" Dean asked. "We got a Charlie Bronson werewolf on our hands?"

Sam saw Toni smile a little at this while he rolled his eyes.

"We don't even know if these things are werewolves or not." Sam feared that that was becoming his mantra.

Toni piped up. "I move that, despite the fact that these things may not be werewolves, we can call them werewolves."  
"Motion seconded." Dean said, raising his hand and grinning ever so smartly at Sam.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Okay, motion carried; can we get on with this?"

There was no objection.

"It seems like werewolves are just attracted to this town." Sam continued. "There's no time pattern these occur in and one of the killers seemed to focus on a certain type to hunt. The oldest attacks, the ones in the sixties and the most recent don't seem to have any concern for who they killed. Maybe these things-"

"-werewolves." Toni and Dean both insisted.

"-_werewolves_ are attracted to this town for some reason." _My God,_ Sam thought, _I'm dealing with three-year olds! Oh well, at least the 'werewolf' thing is keeping them on a united front. _He looked at his older brother and the small redhead and then realized why.

They shared the same expression; their eyes glinted with anticipation for a hunt. Sam imagined that spending time in confined spaces among shelves and desks was, for them, agony. They were spoiling for a fight, a chase; a chance to shed the blood of something evil.

"Maybe the whole town is werewolves." Dean suggested casually.

Sam and Toni only looked at him with dubiously arched eyebrows.

"What?" Dean said, looking back and forth between the two of them. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, please tell me you've seen _The Howling_."

SSS

Dean wondered if his theory was really that obscure. Or, maybe he was just being paranoid. He had emerged from the woods and the Bradleys were no where to be seen. He was usually thankful when people showed him and Sam little interest and let them do their job, but the fact that they hadn't made sure he got out of the woods without being mauled was odd.

He dismissed his theory, though. There would have been a much greater body count in the communities surrounding Van Auledge if the small town's citizens were all werewolves. They were just small town people and they were afraid; add to that the fact that Dean was an outsider and you had the equation that equaled the Bradleys' lack of concern.

The three were silent until Toni, who had since begun searching through a different group of newspaper reports for information, let out a thoughtful, "Huh."

Both brothers looked at her.

"I've found some stories about a white wolf that supposedly haunts these woods."

Dean's mouth lost some of its moisture. "A white wolf?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Toni said, looking him over.

"What I saw was a flash of white." The word 'haunts' tripped something in his mind. He snapped his fingers and looked over at Sam. "What if it's an animal spirit, Sam?"

He watched as Sam mulled it over. "It would have to be one really pissed off animal spirit; they're mostly guides. Maybe it's a shaman's spirit in animal form."

Dean noticed a distinct expression of disappointment on the redhead's face, but the suggestion spurred the three into a renewed frenzy of research nonetheless; they looked for any reports that would give them more reason to suspect an angry shaman spirit.

It didn't pan out. None of them could find a thing; apparently, no noteworthy incidents had taken place. Exiting out of a window on one of the computers, Dean sighed. _This is fun_, he thought. His stomach growled at him, wanting food and then he had an idea.

The Coroner had said that one of the victims was last seen at the bar, implying that there was one or at least a most poplar bar in town. Maybe going there would get them a lead…and food.

Before he could voice his idea the librarian, Norma, stepped timidly into the research room. "Um, we're closing in a few minutes," she said.

"Let's get some food," Dean said happily as he stood and began walking toward the door and then looked back when Sam didn't follow.

Sam yawned and held up a finger as he and Toni began stacking books and powering down computers.

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear," Norma said as she took a stack of books Toni was holding. "I'll take care of all this."

"Thank you," Toni said, smiling at the older woman.

"Not a problem."

Sam carried his books over to the shelf where Norma had taken the others and thanked her for allowing them to do their research. _Such a polite boy_, Dean thought with an almost imperceptible smirk.

WWW

Dean thought he would have found it hilarious if the name of Van Auledge's bar was 'The Slaughtered Lamb' but quickly changed his mind when he remembered if it were like the pub in _An American Werewolf in London_, he would not be provided with any food.

There were a few cars in the parking lot of Rex's Bar & Grill but Dean still parked his baby as far away from them as possible, thusly eliciting an eye-roll from Sam.

"I'm glad Toni didn't accept your dinner invite," Dean said as he walked beside Sam, who only frowned at him.

"Oh, I get it," Dean said. "You're mad because she didn't give into your I'm-so-needy-please-don't-say-no-to-me puppy face."

"She's young, Dean." Sam countered. Dean gave him an unsympathetic look; he didn't understand why Sam insisted on trying to start personal relationships with every person he had a conversation with. _We were young_, he thought.

"She's irritating too," Dean pointed out.

"Whatever," Sam said, although his expression softened a little, signifying agreement.

Ignoring the vertical letters beside the door handle that spelled: PUSH, Dean _pulled_ the door of Rex's. When it didn't open, he glared at it. Sam tapped the PUSH sign with several fingers and chuckled.

"Read much?" he asked his older brother. It earned him an elbow in the gut as Dean followed the door's instructions and walked into the bar.

The inside of Rex's was much larger than Dean would have thought. There were about ten tables and some booths along the walls but, oddly, only a few were occupied. Few patrons acknowledged Dean and Sam's arrival as they seated themselves at several of the bar's stools. Though several neon beer advertisements glowed, almost everything seemed to be made of either wood or fur and Dean prayed that the stuffed squirrel on the bar's counter wouldn't come too life and attack; it seemed to be staring at him. He also prayed he didn't get a splinter in his ass as he shifted on the stool.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied several pool tables. _Sweet_, he thought.

The man behind the counter may as well have had "Hell's Angel" stamped –or perhaps more appropriately; tattooed –on his forehead. His head was bald save for a line of hair along his jaw line. The man was barrel-chested but not fat, had his left ear-lobe pierced, tattoos on his large biceps and was taller than Dean. Below his leather vest, he wore a Harley Davidson tee-shirt. The only thing that seemed out of place was the gold wedding band the man wore.

"Be with you guys in a second," the bartender's voice rumbled as he served a beer to an oldster at the other end of the bar. If this was Rex, he was indeed worthy of the name. If the situation arose, Dean might actually have hesitated for half a second before picking a fight with the guy.

WWW

Audra, the subordinate female, left her mate's side and watched him sleep. Her stomach growled; she was hungry but she would gladly wait for him to wake up. She loved teaching him to change, to hunt, to kill; but most of all, she loved that he was hers. Months ago, the young man was just a college graduate who, as he aged, would have probably lost his handsome figure and thick golden brown hair. The intelligent spark that shone in his green eyes would have eventually faded out; but she wasn't about to let that happen.

With permission from her father, she'd taken Nathan as her own. She reached an elegant hand out to touch one of her mate's shoulders when her keen ears picked up a sound on the lower level of the decrepit house they lived in. Standing and moving in near silence, she made her way –with what was probably unwarranted caution –to the downstairs.

The outside of the old house looked rather dilapidated, but the inside was livable, homey even. They had running water and heat if they so desired. (Her father was great at finagling that sort of stuff.) Though he had accumulated monetary wealth during his long existence, her father said that their true wealth; the river, the forest, was like them, immortal.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and met eyes with the man…the _thing_; that was her father.

"Out prowling around?" She asked with a small smile.

Her father yawned and returned her smile. "Cora and I hunted a deer," he said as he and his mate had simply picked something up at a fast food restaurant.

Cora was not at all a mother figure, but a good alpha female nonetheless; and was a match for Audra's father in every way. For that she held Audra's respect.

"I've got a job for you," he said.

Audra raised her eyebrows expecting some minute assignment.

"A hunter showed up yesterday, a redhead," he informed her.

"_Yesterday?_" she asked. Had the fact that a hunter was on their trail just slipped his mind? "Did you just _forget_?"

He shrugged wantonly. "There's no way she'll find where we are, but before we kill any more humans, it might behoove us to…get rid of her."

Audra knew that no quarter was to be given to any hunter. She nodded and smiled, happy that her father was trusting her.

"She's in the hotel at the East end of town. Kill her."

Without questioning her father, she turned to walk up the stairs to rouse Nathan when a word popped into her head.

_Hubris_; she didn't know where it came from but it was there just the same. She would make certain it didn't lead to her father's downfall.

WWW

"How can I help you guys?" the bartender asked Dean and Sam, looking at them curiously as he dried a pint glass.

"Well," Dean began, smiling, "How about two burgers and two beers to start with."

The man nodded; slid open a cooler and sat a beer in front of each Winchester then turned begin cooking burgers. "And some fries…please." Dean said, as though he was unable to believe he'd forgotten to ask for them.

Sam tried to get comfortable on the bar stool, but found it difficult. His legs weren't quite long enough to be able to keep his feet on the floor; and his knees hit the front of the bar if he positioned his feet on the stool's rungs. He settled for slipping his feet behind the rung so that they were positioned directly beneath the seat. He looked over at Dean who was sitting perfectly balanced on his respective stool.

Sam took a swig of his beer; it was cold, refreshing; everything beer commercials on TV said they should be; but he continued to think about Toni.

Toni said she had been in Van Auledge since yesterday and was staying in a hotel much like the one he and Dean were staying in, except it was across town. They had exchanged cell numbers and said their awkward goodbyes. Beneath the young woman's confident veneer, Sam could sense in her sadness and beneath that, seething anger. It made her dangerous to both herself and their mission. He really couldn't help but worry.

WWW

She would have to start making up names rather than using pop-culture icons. Contending with two other hunters was not what Valerie Shay had planned. They were experienced and maybe they'd be useful, but she really didn't want to find out; she just wanted to kill the things –they had to be werewolves –leave Van Auledge behind and find another town…alone. That's the way it would always be for her now; she only hoped she could live with that.

She'd eaten in a pleasant enough diner –undoubtedly family-run –and then headed to the hotel where she now sat on her bed, sharpening a knife and ignoring the droning television. She imagined she looked ridiculous sitting there in her faded, worn jeans, undershirt and boots.

The somber light of the lamp combined with the pink –or perhaps it was salmon –décor was comfortable. The forest-green bag of weaponry she had set on the floor, however, didn't exactly match.

She held the blade up and watched as the lamp and TV light played along its deadly, silver edge; at that moment there was nothing more beautiful to her.

WWW

Dean's stomach was absolutely snarling when he heard the burgers sizzling on the grill. They smelled great. He happily took a long pull on his beer, relishing it as the amber liquid went down his throat.

"So," the bartender said, sliding the burgers to Dean and Sam, "You boys aren't from around here; are you on a hunting trip or something?"

"Actually," Sam began…

Dean chewed his burger, listened and nodded in the appropriate places, allowing Sam to recount their 'business' to the bartender. Dean liked bartenders; they seemed to know things besides just how to pour drinks.

The bartender's already large chest expanded with a sigh at the mention of the murders in his town. "I sure wish I could tell you something besides the fact that it ain't been good for business and all the tall tales I heard as a kid," he said. "Right, Willy?" The bartender turned his attention to the grizzled old man at the opposite end of the bar who, Dean noticed, was eying he and Sam with interest from below a white Stetson.

"Rex," Willy addressed the bartender in as though he were an insubordinate teenager. "You might find that some tales ain't as tall as you think when you've lived to be my age." His voice was surprisingly strong. The words of the old man –who had appeared to Dean to be nothing more than a barfly -held dignity in them.

Rex –Dean congratulated himself for having guessed the bartender's name –looked as though he was going to say something, but Dean cut in. "I'd like to hear some of those stories, sir." He noted that a here-we-go-again expression crossed Rex's face.

Willie nodded; grabbing the Yuengling he'd been nursing and made his way on bowed legs over to the seat next to Dean, who knew that this guy was sober, despite the fact the man had probably already had several beers.

WWW

Valerie hadn't realized she'd dozed off until the banging on her door jilted her awake. She'd fallen asleep with her knife resting on her small stomach, rather than under the pillow where she typically kept it. She quickly put the knife into the sheath on her belt loop, snapped it shut and walked to the door. The knocking came more insistently.

"Who is it?" she asked groggily, knowing that she may very well stab someone if they were offering towels.

"Help, help me _please!_" came a woman's desperate voice from the other side of the door.

Val snapped completely awake. After stuffing her black .38 handgun into her waistband, she opened the door. A young woman –a little older than Val, maybe –grasped desperately at her arm. Her black hair was disheveled and tears flowed freely from her eyes.

"Please, you have to help me! They took my…my…my boyfriend; they're going to kill him! Please help!" The woman implored her as she pulled at Val's right arm.

"Okay," Val said, peeling the woman's grip from her right arm, although she quickly attached herself to Val's left arm. "Where did they go?" she asked calmly, allowing herself to be led toward danger.

"They went this way," the woman wept as she increased their pace to a jog. They were now well beyond the hotel's parking lot and going into the bordering woods. "They're so _horrible!_" she whimpered.

The woman didn't even seem to notice when Val drew her gun.

WWW

Despite himself, Sam was enthralled by the way Willy told his story and by the looks of things, others were too. Dean alternated between taking sips of beer and bites of French fries (Dean already finished his burger.) but did not take his eyes off of the old man. Several diners had stopped their conversations to listen. Even Rex was listening with what Sam was sure was concealed enthusiasm. Sam regretted that he and Dean were never able to look on such stories as just that…stories.

Willy had told them about the killings in the eighteen hundreds –nothing there they hadn't read –and then about the killings in the nineties and about the white 'wolf' that people had claimed to see. Sam wondered why he had omitted the killings in the eighties.

When the door to Rex's opened, letting in two paramedics and a rush of cold air, Willy paused in his story.

"Hi, Rex," the female paramedic said as she took a seat and was followed by a younger man; they both looked Dean and Sam over, knowing that they were strangers, but quickly turned their attention back to Rex.

"Hey, Lynn" Rex said. "Burgers and beers?"

Lynn chuckled and shook her head. "I wish," she said. "Just the burgers, please; Kenny and I are still on duty."

Dean and Sam both turned their attention back to Willy, who continued.

"It's been about twenty five years since I saw it." Said Willy, who was staring with gray eyes as though he were looking into the past. "I was in my hunting cabin for the night; my buddy, Slim went out to get firewood. Ten minutes came and went and I thought that maybe he'd had too many beers and had fallen on his ass." The faintest of smiles played across Willy's face; perhaps he was remembering some misadventure he and his friend had had when they were younger.

Willy took his Stetson off and set it on the counter.

"So, I grabbed my boots and flashlight and walked out the door and around the corner." The old man would have appeared as affected as a stone but his eyes misted over almost imperceptibly, betraying his emotion. "The first thing the flashlight beam caught was gray fur and two eyes; they flashed hell-fire red. And the teeth…dear God, they were covered in something…and you know what? The first thing that my mind thought was that it looked like they were covered in cherry syrup." Willy chuckled a cold, humorless chuckle and all the eyes in the bar widened a little bit.

WWW

The woman's crying and pleading had stopped.

Although she didn't want to go too far into the woods at that time of the night, Val continued on, hoping it wasn't too late for the woman's boyfriend. She listened for cries or screams but heard nothing until a deep growl sounded behind her.

Gun in hand Val spun, aiming the .38 in the direction of the noise. All she saw was a flash of golden brown fur in her flashlight's luminance before a fist connected with her jaw, sending Val sprawling backwards and crashing to the ground. Her gun fell from her grip and before she could retrieve it, the woman's foot kicked it beyond her reach. A small noise of denial escaped Val's throat.

Val dumbly shone the flashlight upward into her attacker's face. Cruel, golden eyes shimmered down at her hatefully.

"Hunter," the thing that looked like a woman greeted with a slight nod before maliciously kicking Val's ribcage.

Val bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. She tried to stand but another kick kept her down. The woman –the thing –walked around in a small circle, clearly gloating.

"My father told us to come get you, a hunter." The woman said as she looked Val over coolly. "But he didn't seem too worried about you and now I know why. You're pathetic."

"Go to Hell," Val gritted out, trying to stand again. The thing didn't try to stop her this time, but crinkled her nose as though Val's suggestion didn't appeal to her.

"I won't," she said, "not for a long time, anyway."

The thing began to circle her. Not to be outdone, Val began to circle as well and unsheathed her silver knife. They looked at one another, absolutely seething. The dark-haired golden-eyed creature attacked first; all limbs and fury. Val slashed downward with her blade, but the blow was blocked.

Before Val could contemplate her next move, claws ripped into her shoulders and spun her around. Green eyes bored into her own and she could only hang there like a rag doll in the animal's grip; she was, at the same time was filled with both awe and terror.

This was a werewolf that had clawed its way out of a movie screen; it was nothing like any she'd ever seen. It snarled viciously at her, letting its hot saliva fleck her face.

With a cry of anger and fear, Val slashed her knife across the beast's chest. It yelped in surprise and threw her. The other wasted no time in lashing out with now pronounced claws, at Val who could now only stumble blindly to where she'd seen her gun fall.

WWW

Dean reached for his plate of fries only to discover they were all gone. It didn't matter. He was listening intently to Willy's story which had by that point in time become fragmented sentences full of confusion.

"I ran back into the cabin and got my gun; it followed. It looked enough like a wolf, but it wasn't; it was so much bigger and its body was…different; it stood on its hind legs and came at me. I shot it. The bullet hit it in the chest and it fell but got back up. It looked at me with this look of pure…_hatred_. After that I shot it in the head and then I passed out. When I woke up, it was somehow worse than it was at night. There was a man lying on the floor where the thing had fallen. I knew it wasn't a man I shot. I went outside and saw what was left of my old friend. It didn't even feel real, ya know?

"Somehow, I drove to town and when I got back with police ol' Slim's body was the only one there." Willy chuckled again as though saying: _Doesn't that beat all?_

Willy ran a gnarled hand through his mostly gray beard and sighed wearily.

"I know how crazy it sounds, young man," Willy said, addressing Dean. "I kept quiet about what I really saw back then, but maybe I just don't care anymore." Willy drained the rest of his beer; it was clear the story was over.

"Alright, Willy," Rex interjected; albeit a little too late to allow the rest of the patrons a restful slumber. "Maybe you should head on home."

Willy stood, seemingly drained. "I reckon you're right," he said, putting his hat back on his head and walking out the door, leaving silence in his wake.

After a few moments Dean spoke up. "Should that guy be driving home?"

Rex waved a dismissive hand. "Willy lives just a little ways down the road. He'll go home and sleep it off." As though Rex's pronouncement made everything better, the few customers began carrying on hushed conversations. "Willy's a good guy," Rex continued. "Those werewolf stories are just…"

"Freaky?" Dean finished.

"Exactly."

"So they really never found a body?" Sam asked, finally making some noise. Dean noticed that his burger was only half-eaten.

Rex crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Not that I can remember. I was twelve or thirteen when it happened. It was confirmed that a wild animal killed Slim, though. Only one other person was found killed like that that year and then there were a few more in the nineties; it hasn't happened again since…well, you know."

After a few moments of contemplative quiet, Rex asked, "Can I get you guys anything?"

Dean opened his mouth to ask for another beer and more fries, but before he could, a static-laden voice crackled over the woman paramedic's walkie-talkie.

"Unit two, come in, we have a Code Three Emergency at Freemont's Hotel; it's an apparent animal attack."

"Unit two responding," Lynn practically yelled into the walkie-talkie. "E.T.A., five minutes."

Dean and Sam looked at each other. 'Toni,' Sam mouthed as his brow knit with worry.

The paramedics, Lynn and Kenny, flew out the door; Dean slapped a twenty onto the counter, and he and Sam ran after them, leaving a bar of wide-eyed townspeople behind.

Shortly after the ambulance's lights began flashing in a red and blue frenzy, Dean twisted the key in the classic car's ignition. A fast beat blared in the Impala and James Hetfield yowled with conviction:

"…_So seek the wolf in thyself_

_Shape shift nose to the wind  
Shape shift feeling I've been  
Move swift all senses clean  
Earth's gift  
Back to the meaning of wolf and man."_

Without even looking down, Dean jabbed the STOP/EJECT button on the tape player and wedged his foot down harder on the accelerator.

"Dude," Sam said, looking out the windshield at the speeding white vehicle ahead of them. "That's just wrong."

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews would be lovely; let me know what you liked (or didn't like, for that matter). The only references that weren't really explained in this chapter were: When Dean called Toni/Val and Sam Ginger and Brigitte, the main characters in the **_**Ginger Snaps**_** series. The song quote toward the end of the chapter that was 'werewolfy' was from **_**Of Wolf and Man**_** by (you guessed it) Metallica.**


	3. Best Two Outta Three

**A/N: Thank you, everybody for your reviews; you're awesome! **

**Here's the deal with this chapter: The way I'd initially had this chapter planned out, there was significant action at least by the end of it. But, as it turns out, I needed this chapter for some more exposition. I just got to a certain point and thought: **_**Gee, this would be a good place to stop this chapter**_**. (I think the way this chapter ends is actually kind of cute.) By next chapter, I promise there's gonna be whumpage and more gore! **

"Good-bye, my little Abby," Bethany whispered as she kissed the babe's forehead and took in her fresh, clean infant's scent one last time. "You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you, but I have to do this."

Bethany knew Abby could not understand her, but nevertheless, she needed to say the words so that she herself could stay strong and do what she needed to do. After putting Abbey in her car seat in a gentle motion, she flipped the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, put a blanket over Abby then carried the child to the steps of the orphanage she'd selected. The red-brick building looked solid, safe. She wrapped on the door loudly and rang the doorbell and wrapped on the door again until she saw lights flick on. Bethany then ran, leaving behind the last of her kin.

She drove the little Ford Gary kept for her back toward Van Auledge. No tears came as she shoved away memories of the baby she'd just abandoned and allowed notions and barely formed plans to crash around her mind. Perhaps now she could accept that war was headed her way.

WWW

As the blue and red ambulance lights spun soundlessly, they illuminated the yellow exterior of the Freemont hotel and the jagged, leafless trees.

"Aw, man," Dean said. "This is all bad."

Sam only nodded slowly. Unlike many 'crime' scenes, there were very few people gathered around. The paramedics, Lynn and Kenny, were by that point in time wheeling a collapsible cart out form the back of the ambulance and rushing to the barely conscious woman on the ground. Two police officers were knelt at her side, trying to talk to her and reassure her. Toni was looking around and Dean saw her gaze rest on Sam. He saw recognition in her eyes and maybe a little relief, but mostly terror.

Toni's paper-white flesh made her wounds –vicious lacerations on her face, torso arms and legs –exceedingly apparent to Dean and Sam, but only Sam made a move toward the other hunter.

Dean pulled him back by the crook of the arm and nodded toward where several other officers –probably the sheriff and his deputy –were talking to a teenaged girl whose face was streaked with tears. She was, undoubtedly the one who had discovered Toni and perhaps what had attacked her.

"Let's get what we can from here first, and then we'll go to the hospital." Dean said as they watched the paramedics work with speed and efficiency.

"Okay," Sam said with obvious reluctance.

In what seemed like an eternity –but was only mere minutes –the scene cleared and Dean and Sam made there way to where the teenager was being hugged protectively by a woman Dean could only assume was her mother.

"Hello," Dean said, addressing the shaken girl. "We are with Animal Control, and we were hoping you could tell us if you saw anything tonight that could help us in our investigation…" She didn't seem to be paying attention and her mother looked at him with disapproval.

Dean heard Sam sigh and realized he was approaching the situation incorrectly.

"Hi," Sam said, keeping his voice soft. "My name's Sam; what's yours?" The girl blinked as though seeing the two for the first time.

"Alice," she said quietly.

"Hi, Alice," Sam continued with his infinite patience. "Could you tell us what you saw when you found that girl? It might help us catch what did it."

Alice shook her head sadly. "I was just taking out the trash and I found her like that, all cut up." It seemed the girl wished she could offer more information, but was just as happy she hadn't caught a glimpse of what did it.

Sam nodded sympathetically. "She's very lucky you found her when you did. Thank you for your time."

WWW

Gary had almost made it to the end of his shift when the young woman was brought in, a bloody mess. Stitching her up wasn't especially difficult, but the conversation he would have to have when he got home would be.

Five days ago, he'd come home from a double shift to find Bethany holding the infant in her arms. Her jaw was set firmly and her silver eyes blazed with both affection and protectiveness. Abigail's parents had died and, in a case of what Gary thought had to have been temporary insanity; Bethany shanghaied the baby away from whatever danger she had perceived. .

"Things have changed," Bethany had said; "and I just need to know that she's safe." She'd then looked at Gary with a softened, almost pleading expression. "She's the last of my family."

Gary was at a loss for what to do. Bethany had said that if there were any more attacks, then they would find Abby somewhere away from Van Auledge. After the second hunter, Saunders had been killed, Bethany made no effort to deliver the baby to a safer town and he didn't bring up the subject. Now another had been attacked and he would be forced to. Thankfully, the girl who was now in the ICU didn't appear to have been bitten.

After exchanging notes with fellow doctors and filing some paper work, Gary walked through the waiting room to get to the parking lot but was intercepted by the two young men he'd earlier banished from the ER.

It was nearly two-thirty in the morning; he'd had no idea Animal Control officers were so persistent.

"Hey, doc," the shorter one said, walking up to him. "Mind if we have a word?" Gary sighed heavily.

"Look, boys," he said, scratching his chin. "I told you, she's probably not going to come around until tomorrow. She'll be fine."

"Is there anything she might have said?" asked the one with a mop of brown hair on his head. His eyes showed a little more concern.

"No, I didn't get to speak to her myself, but I'd be willing to bet money that it's whatever's been killing people these past couple of months. She's very lucky to be alive."

Gary turned again to walk away.

"Was she bitten?" The first one asked, his doggedness becoming a tad frustrating. Gary really had to get home.

"Not that I can tell, she was just very badly clawed, or…cut." He answered hastily. "You should be able to talk to her tomorrow. Goodnight."

As he made his exit, the two Animal Control officers headed toward the exit as well. At first Gary thought they were following him, but realized they too were just going to their car. (Of course, Gary had a longer walk to his car because the staff parking lot was situated so much farther away. But that was okay, he needed time to think.) He watched them get into a car; a damn nice one too. If he wasn't mistaken it was an Impala.

WWW

Ignoring the ache in her arm from where a bullet had grazed her, Audra met her father's gaze. He kept his breathing even and his posture relaxed, but his pale green, gold-flecked eyes betrayed the fact that he was beyond irritated. She and Nathan had failed in dispatching the young woman hunter because they showed weakness. She already despised herself for that but she hoped her father didn't.

SSS

Kiser looked at Audra; he knew he'd trained his daughter to be wiser but it seemed the mate she'd chosen had clouded her judgment. The boy was soft and that reflected poorly on the pack. Yet, he knew that not all the blame could be laid at Audra's feet, perhaps he himself should have taken action in getting rid of the hunter.

"Nathan is soft," he began in a low voice.

"He's still learning," Audra countered in a voice that Kiser could tell she was keeping just below a simmer.

"You insisted on taking him with you; now he's injured and the hunter is still alive."  
"Like I said; he's learning."

"Then he shouldn't have gone."  
"Oh, so this is all _my_ fault?" She was angry now.

He breathed a deep sigh but said nothing.

"This whole thing is ill-conceived!" With the exception of Nathan, the speech of the rest of the pack members was peppered with both old and new vernaculars. "Do you really think other hunters won't show up in her stead? We should just move on."

"This is _our_ territory now." Kiser said in an eerily calm voice. "No hunter is going to run us off."

"But what about…"

"Just you never mind her." Aggravation was creeping into his voice now. He knew who Audra was thinking of.

His daughter was loyal, he knew that. For a moment, he could see the six-year old ragamuffin that he had taken as his own child more than ninety years ago, but the memory was quickly banished by the golden eyes that were currently glaring at him.

"I'll finish the job tomorrow," he said "and we won't kill any humans for another month just to be sure." He mustered his best paternal smile and brushed locks of dark hair out of Audra's eyes. "It will all be taken care of."

WWW

On returning home, Gary had expected to find Bethany by Abby's crib where he had left her. The only thing he found was a note in the crib written in Bethany's elegant writing.

_Gary,_

_I was right; things have changed. But things will get worse before they get better and it is for that reason that I have to take Abby, the only blood family I have left, away from Van Auledge. I suppose I knew it would happen sooner or later. I don't know when I'll be back; we still need to talk._

_-Bethany_

He could practically hear her soft voice, pent up with emotion as though she were right next to him, saying the words aloud. Relief and sadness both filled him. Abby was out of danger but that parting could very well mean the end of Bethany's connection to Van Auledge. He knew Bethany was strong, but he wondered if she could handle more than one other werewolf with only the meager help he could provide.

He wondered what made Bethany pick Abby up in the middle of the night and take her God-only-knew where. Surely she wouldn't have heard about the attack on the young reporter. She acted on instinct, which, for the most part served her well. The same impulse that brought Abby into their lives had taken the child out of it.

There was really no way of gauging Bethany's activities; she was like a coin whose sides were jarringly different. She could display the wonderment of a child as well as the wisdom of a woman much older than she looked. But the other side of her, the side that fortunately Gary had rarely seen, was intense and –he wasn't too big to admit it –terrifying.

His stomach growled at him but he really did not feel like eating. He slouched in his recliner in the former nursery and without really even being aware of it, fell asleep.

WWW

"Man, this sucks," Sam thought aloud as he rolled onto his back on his Queen-sized bed.

Dean rolled onto his left side, facing the door but Sam couldn't tell if the movement indicated aggravation or if Dean was simply shifting in his sleep. Why would Toni not have called them for help? She'd had herself convinced that what they were dealing with was werewolves and then probably found out otherwise; the stubborn little…Sam knew it was really no different than what his father would have done or what Dean would do.

But then another, more disturbing thought occurred to him. Toni was found at the place she was staying. All of the other attacks had taken place in much more isolated locations. The attack on Toni was much closer to town. What if she hadn't found them? What if they had found her? Dean had said these things were smart; would it be unreasonable to think they knew that people were after them? If so, shouldn't they be watching to make sure nothing was going to sneak up on them in the night and puree them? He sighed and rolled over onto his right side, facing the wall. Toni would be safe in the hospital and they had an arsenal to protect them but morning wouldn't come soon enough for him.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of claws and teeth and of silver eyes watching him.

SSS

In the morning, Dean had convinced –or perhaps not convinced, but wheedled –Sam into returning to The Freemont Hotel before the hospital; saying that Toni would still be at the hospital but the trail would be getting colder by the hour.

They both looked out the car window as Dean let the Impala roll to a stop on the pavement behind Freemont's and saw police officers and what looked to be a scouting group. He rather doubted that the ammunition in the rifles some of the men carried would do any good. A large German Shepherd was cowering behind its master's legs, tail tucked and ears down. Sam discreetly glanced from the dog to his brother and back to the dog. He was really not surprised to see that Dean was showing more enthusiasm for a hunt than the canine tracker.

"Guess we'll have to come back later," Sam ventured, making a point of looking at the clear sky and suggesting that the integrity of the trail would not be disrupted too much by bad weather.

"We can go and pick up the trail out ahead of them."

"You really want to risk getting shot with a .22, Dean?" Sam asked, cocking a thumb toward the armed men. "Let's just go see Toni; she'll be able to give us a better idea of what we're dealing with anyway."

"Yeah, yeah;" Dean said as his mouth twitched into a frown of obvious disappointment. "We'll go see your girlfriend." He shifted the car's gears and drove off. Sam rolled his eyes.

WWW

So what was she going to do? She would need help beyond what Gary could offer. He was dear to her; so should she shuttle him off to some town so that he wouldn't be harmed like she did with Abby? As much as she would like to guarantee Gary's safety (not to mention the rest of the town's) she knew it was a ridiculous thought. Gary could no sooner be shooed away from Van Auledge than she could.

And what of the hunters? Over the years, she'd encountered very few of them and while they would be assets to her cause, Bethany knew that forging an alliance with men who had likely lost loved ones to creatures like her would be beyond difficult. She really didn't see another option, though. They had their silver bullets and she had her teeth and claws.

WWW

The hospital doors slid open mechanically as they stepped into the building, each brother glad the other wasn't a patient. They were given directions to Toni's room and then found it easily enough. Before they could enter, her doctor –Dean couldn't remember, but he was fairly certain the guy hadn't introduced himself. He thought it was odd; most doctors seemed to be all too eager to introduce themselves as Doctor Whoever to establish that they had spent what, to Dean, was an inordinate number of years in school and that they nobly gave of themselves to save lives. Not this guy, though.

"Boys," the doctor said in a voice that he was probably trying to keep friendly; "Miss Shay is awake; you can go on in and talk to her if you like."

"We wouldn't leave otherwise," Dean said in a too-cheery-to-be-serious voice as he grinned.

The doctor smiled in return but it was the smile of a man who wanted to be able to laugh and be friendly, but had too much on his mind.

They walked into Toni's room and she regarded them with her green eyes that were dimmed and despondent. Dean guessed that it had little to do with any drugs that may have been in her system.

"Hey, Toni," Sam said softly.

On her pallid features, a laceration extended from her left temple to her mouth; another spanned the length of her forehead and a third slashed across the bridge of her nose and across her right cheek. Dean would have to use all of his self-restraint not to call her 'Chucky' no matter how much the girl irked him. _That would be in poor taste, right?_ He thought.

The right side of her mouth went up and the other remained still, it was like a version of Mona Lisa was smiling at them most morbidly.

"Call me Val," she said quietly, not really looking at either of them. She brushed several red locks off of her face with her left arm, which sported more cuts. "Uh...last night…those things…"

Dean knew that the next step –the only step, really –in the conversation would be for Val to tell them what she saw. The words just seemed to hang there in the air for too long. Suddenly, knowing what these things were was only half as appealing.

SSS

In front of the two other hunters, Val felt humiliated but at the same time she was grateful that they were there. After last night, she knew that she couldn't do this by herself. After waking up in the hospital, she was amazed that she hadn't bled to death in the parking lot she'd dragged herself to. Now she just had to find the words to tell them what she'd seen. _Nothing like facing a monster you couldn't handle to take you down a few pegs_.

She wasn't sure they could be anything other than werewolves. She'd seen beasts like that in movies and ancient art but now she knew that they weren't merely exaggerations. They apparently thrived and were not governed by the lunar cycle.

She took in a deep breath and wondered what her mother would do or say. She couldn't very well leave. She really had no choice but to team up with Sam and Dean and that scared her; but because being alone in it scared her that much more she hoped she could convince them to let her help.

_I miss you, mom,_ she thought.

SSS

Sam watched as Toni –_No, wait; it's Val now,_ he mentally amended –met his gaze and then Dean's. She was obviously hurting, probably mentally as well as physically, but more importantly, she had something to say.

The girl took a deep breath.

"It was a trap," she said simply, as she looked from one to the other. Her face then crumpled into a scowl –as much as her injuries would allow, anyway. "This 'woman' knocked on my door sayin' that this _thing_ attacked her boyfriend. So I followed her into the woods—"

"_Unarmed?_" Dean asked.

"Of course not; I'm not a complete _idiot_." she said, clearly more than a little aggravated by his suggestion. "Can I talk?"

Dean looked at the floor, assenting to the continuation of Val's story.

"I…this thing…it…" she let out a harsh breath and when Sam thought she was going to begin to hyperventilate, she began laughing hysterically. The monitors began to beep faster, adding an abnormal sense of hilarity to an already abnormal situation.

Sam looked over at Dean who looked every bit as bewildered as he felt. She continued to laugh and they continued to stare until the door opened. They spun around to see Doctor Sam-Couldn't-Remember-His-Name in the doorway, obviously concerned. "Is everything okay?"

Val's laughter became a hiccupping giggle as she put a hand over her small mouth. "I'm okay, Doc," she said, grinning winningly at him. "Dean here just told me a good joke." The doctor blinked at them and then stepped in the room.

"Well," he said, looking at Dean expectantly; as though he himself really needed to hear a joke. "Let's hear it."

SSS

Dean gave Val a look that said, 'You're lucky you're already in the hospital,' then tilted backward on his boots, trying to think of a real knee-slapper. For some reason he wasn't in a very _funny_ mood.

"Um…" Dean said, wracking his brain for some joke that would be half-way decent to tell a doctor. "Uh…a guy walked into a bar and said 'ouch.'"

Val started giggling again and Sam looked at him while the doctor smiled, clearly humoring Dean. _Guess I'm off my game_, he thought. Dean expected the doctor –who was, judging by the Hawaiian shirt he wore under his lab coat, a Jimmy Buffet fan –to say something like: "I'll have to ask you boys to leave. Not only because Miss Shay needs her rest, but also because you can't tell a joke to save yourselves." But instead, he asked the three hunters if they needed anything and when they said 'no' he left.

Val continued to giggle. "Oh, c'mon," Dean said, "it wasn't _that_ funny."

She sobered a little bit and shook her head. "No, it really wasn't."

Dean looked over at Sam, who was eying Val intently. "What did you see, Val?" he asked.

The girl looked as though she couldn't decide if she wanted to cry, scream or laugh some more, but then her features deadpanned. "A werewolf," she said simply.

Dean and Sam looked at each other and then at her, waiting for more intel.

"It wasn't anything I've seen outside of the movies," she said. "I mean one of them had a wolfish head and its body was…different; bigger. On its hind legs, it had to have stood seven feet tall, maybe more." She tilted her head to one side as though pondering something. "It was kind of the color of a Golden Retriever. The other one was mostly in human form, but she had claws and golden eyes. She was a _bitch_, to say the least."

Sam and Dean stood silently, taking in the information. _Alright_, Dean thought; so _it is werewolves but this really didn't make a whole lot of sense._

"They don't like silver," Val said after a moment. "I slashed one with my knife and I got off four shots with my .38 before they ran. I hurt the one in wolf form pretty bad; I think, and just grazed the other one. Lucky for me, they both turned tail and ran."

"Pun intended?" Sam asked with a light smile on his lips.

"Uh, yeah." Val said with good-natured sarcasm in her voice. The tension that had been looming in the small hospital room seemed to dissolve, as though the three were suddenly seeing eye-to-eye for the first time.

The only thing they could do now was attempt to come up with a plan of action.

"So…" Val said with a small bit of timidity in her voice. "Are we joining forces?"

Dean looked over at Sam, who was looking back at him with a 'Whaduya think? Please, oh please,' sort of expression.

"Do we have a choice?" Dean asked.

She smiled a nervous, if not genuine smile and then said, "Okay, first things first. If we're going to be staying in town, I'd better do as the doctor orders but I'm not entirely fond of this hospital gown. Can you guys go to my room, pick up my stuff and my car and take it to wherever you're staying. And bring me some clothes?"

"Aren't you asking a little much?" Dean asked, a little miffed that she was giving orders.

"Just one more thing?" She asked. "I managed to throw my gun and knife into the dumpster…"

"No," Dean said, although he would probably put himself in a trash bin just for the sake of saving a gun and knife.

"Please," she said, clearly trying to bat her eyes at him pleadingly.

The door to the room creaked open and Doctor Whatshisface stepped in with a nurse. "How are you feeling, Val?" he asked.

"Peachy-keen," She said cheerily.

"Good," He said, not paying much attention to Dean or Sam (Dean was willing to bet he was trying to avoid any more stupid jokes). "I'm headed home in a little bit, and I just wanted to make sure you didn't need anything."

"Well," Val said. "Not that I don't enjoy your company, but I kind of want out of here."

The doctor smiled and nodded as though he'd expected it. "I think I'll be able to let you out of here tomorrow," he said.

Val huffed in disappointment and looked from Sam to Dean and shrugged with her eyebrows. The doctor then redirected his attention to them.

"Did I introduce myself to you boys?" he asked.

They both shook their heads.

Around a yawn, the doctor said; "I'm Gary Bishop, if you need anything, just ask. Oh, and just call be Gary." He picked up Val's chart. "Oh, by the way, I saw that car of yours; she's beautiful. An Impala, right? What year is she?"

"She's a sixty-seven," Dean replied, as his chest visibly swelled with pride.

"I had had a red, sixty-eight Chevelle once; that baby flew. Got quite a few speeding tickets with her." Gary stared off into space for a moment, maybe picturing himself once more behind the wheel of his Chevelle, just cruising down the road without a care in the world.

_Maybe this guy's not a hack after all_, Dean thought.

"Could you guys step out for a couple minutes until we've checked Val over?" Gary asked, quickly, the nostalgic moment clearly having distracted him from his work.

"Sure," Dean and Sam answered simultaneously and walked out. Dean noted the look on Sam's face; his eyes were wrinkled with a small, thoughtful smile. _What does he know that I don't?_ Dean wondered.

WWW

"Dean," Sam said, in what was probably an unnecessarily hushed voice. "When we were at the library, did you see the print of that white wolf on the wall?"

Dean rolled his eyes upward slightly, trying to recall whether or not he had seen said picture. Sam had a feeling he knew the answer.

"Nope, why do you ask?"

"I was looking at it and the librarian told me it was by a 'Doctor Bishop' painted it."

"So?"

Sam gestured toward the room they'd just left. "Doctor Bishop –Gary –painted it. The wolf's eyes in that print were so _intense_; it was like they were staring straight into you."

"Well, Sammy, that's what you get for spending all of your time in creepy-ass libraries; eyes start to follow you," Dean said with a smirk as he started walking.

"It was just…never mind." Sam sighed. _Dean wouldn't understand unless he saw the picture for himself…if even then_, Sam thought, adding a mental jab at his brother. Besides, it wasn't like Gary had a pet werewolf or that the animal in the print was depicted as a towering, slobbering, killing-machine. Was it really surprising that someone would commemorate art to a local legend? Still, those silver eyes conveyed so much that…

Sam decided to drop it; there were, after all more pressing matters at hand.

"Let's go get her stuff," Dean said.

Sam grimaced at the 'let's'. He still couldn't shake the feeling that Val wasn't safe.

"What now?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows and looked around the hallway with mock suspicion. "Did another painting just look at you?"

"No, Dean," Sam said, as his eyebrows bunched closer together and he shook his head. "I think one of us should stay here with Val."

"Dude, she's in a hospital; I think she'll be taken care of," Dean insisted as he pulled his keys out his jacket pocket and twirled them around on his right index finger.

"Do you think so?" Sam asked. "Dean, you said yourself that these things are smart, what if they knew Val's a hunter? What if they know _we're_ hunters? All of the other attacks took place in the woods, away from town. Don't you think it's a little weird that these things showed up at Val's _door _and used her as a squeak toy?"

"Yeah," Dean conceded, "it is a little weird."

Overhead, the voice of what sounded to Sam like a very cranky receptionist, squawked over the intercom: _"Would Doctor Hirsch please report to the second floor nurses' station, Doctor Hirsch." _

Dean and Sam both looked up at the ceiling and then back at each other with mutual aggravation at the abrasive sounds that came from up above.

"I'll go, then," Dean said with a casual shrug as he continued to twirl the keys around and around. "Did that name sound familiar to you?" he asked, looking back up at the intercom.

Sam was not quite dumb enough to miss what Dean's ulterior motives were. Dean was just waiting for the opportunity to go and pick up another trail.

"Huh-uh, Dean," Sam said, swiftly plucking the set of keys from Dean's finger. "How dumb do you think I am?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Dean asked as he scowled sourly at Sam.

"You're not going out there just to track these things and get yourself killed." Sam protested. He was very tempted to use his height to his advantage and dangle the keys out of Dean's reach. "I'll go."

"Yeah, right. Gimme my keys, Sam;" Dean said, holding his hand outward, expectantly. "Besides, they probably only hunt at night and it's only about three."

Sam wasn't going to give over the keys so easily. He began to raise them upward, but then had an even better idea. Sam switched the keys to his left hand and jutted out his right hand in a fist. Dean smiled and followed suit, accepting the challenge.

They moved their fists up and down three times. Sam's hand remained a fist, or rather, became a rock and Dean's index and middle finger jutted out, forming scissors.

_So predictable_, Sam thought triumphantly, but he knew what the next words out of Dean's mouth would be.

"Nuh-uh, Dude," Dean said as he stuck his fist back out for a re-match. "Best two-outta-three."

Sam rolled his eyes. _Fine_, he thought, ready to defeat his brother a second time; _have it your way_.

One, two, three…

Sam again let his hand remain a fist, but he soon found his brother's flat hand covering it. He blinked. Had Dean actually just beaten him in a round of Rock, Paper, Scissors?

"Not so predictable now; am I Sammy?"

"Whatever," Sam said, "You still got one more." _There's no way he won't use scissors again, _Sam thought.

One, two, three…

_Twenty Minutes Later…_

Dean slouched irritably in the Taxi as it made its way toward the Freemont Hotel. Though he'd managed to beat Sam at Rock, Paper, Scissors (as much as it pained him, he'd used Paper twice instead of Scissors, knowing that Sam wouldn't expect it twice) he'd forgotten about having to get Val's car and drive it back, making his own keys obsolete.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! The next chapter is really gonna pick up the pace. (I don't skimp on details so just think how much whumpage you'll have to look forward to!) **

**The only werewolfy reference in this chapter is toward the end when 'Dr. Hirsch' is being asked for over the intercom. I really couldn't resist doing it. Dr. J. S. Hirsch is from 1981's **_**An American Werewolf in London**_**; he was played by John Woodvine; and for some reason, he kind of made me laugh. **

**If you were wondering, there's not gonna be any DeanOFC or SamOFC (sorry, if that's what you're looking for) and I don't do slash. If you have any other questions, please ask. Remember: I love hearing from you! **


	4. Damage

**A/N: Thank you, everyone for your reviews! This chapter's a little longer, but I think it moves pretty fast; hope you enjoy! And yes, as promised, the whumpage begins in this chapter. **

Gary shut the front door behind him and seriously considered collapsing in the place he stood. The house was silent and he wondered if Bethany had returned from wherever she had gone. He walked down the foyer, peered into the still-empty nursery and then shuffled into the living room.

Bethany was curled on the deep cushions of the beige, leather couch, fast asleep; she looked so tiny. Bethany wasn't a wife or a daughter and certainly not a pet. It was sad for Gary to think that she didn't need him for anything, but she was a companion that would probably always be there with him. He knew he would be there for her as long as he could be.

It had never been spoken between them, but he knew that she could make him what she was and that he would never have to worry about disease or death (well, a natural death, anyway). He also knew that he would never accept that life and he wondered if it was selfish of him; once he died, she would be alone. He often wondered what she would do when he was gone. He doubted she would go on a murderous rampage, but Bethany's loneliness wasn't something he liked to dwell on.

He went to the linen closet, got an afghan and laid it over her so that only her face was showing. She stirred a little bit but settled back into what Gary hoped was a restful sleep. Though she was a predominantly nocturnal creature, she had been up at all hours with Abby. He supposed even werewolves needed rest.

He sat for a while and just watched Bethany sleep until he could no longer ignore his grumbling stomach. He decided that some sustenance would do them both some good. After all, he wouldn't survive for very long on just the hospital cafeteria's food and he knew that Bethany's appetite could be seemingly insatiable at times. Rising, he went to the kitchen.

A short while later, he had prepared some sort of beef-and-potato stovetop concoction that he served over rice. He knew he was no Emeril Aggassi but the food would be accepted. The sound of plates and silverware being placed on the wooden surface of the coffee table roused Bethany.

Though she had just woken up, her eyes were bright and alert.

"Hey," She said, smiling with her mouth and stretching her arms and legs outward. Though she wasted no time picking up her food, her eyes seemed to be imploring him not to ask about what she'd done.

"Hey," he replied, sitting down in the seat across from her. "You needed to talk to me about something?"

Bethany seemed to sigh with relief as she simultaneously shoveled a forkful of the stew and rice into her mouth. She chewed hastily and nodded.

"We can't do this alone," She said, and then promptly took another bite of food. Gary only took a bite of his own food, waiting for her to continue.

"I was outside the Adelson's hotel the other day and I saw these two guys. I just got this…feeling about them. I saw them at the Coroner's office and…"

"You went into town?" he asked, wrinkling his brow. "What did you do for clothing?"

"You won't turn me in for a little B and E will you?" She asked with a ghost of a smile on her face. "I snuck into someone's summer cabin on the outskirts of town and got some." Gary knew that those clothes were probably lying in shreds, in some forgotten part of the Van Auledge forest and would eventually become convenient nesting material for some woodland animal.

"After that," she continued, "I caught up with one at the Bradley's farm. I accidentally gave away my position and he chased after me."

Gary looked at her with only a vague conception of what she was trying to say.

"They're hunters, Gary." She said around a mouthful of food. Any other day, her expression probably would have seemed cute.

He scratched his chin, taking in the information; he had a feeling he knew where she was going with this. He'd never met a 'hunter' but from what Bethany told him about them, he wondered if that particular course of action would be advisable.

"You think we should approach them?" he asked in a tone that suggested caution.

"Are you getting protective over me, Gary?" She seemed intrigued by the possibility. He only smiled tiredly.

"It's entirely up to you." he said. The werewolf and the doctor focused their attention on their dinner plates for a few moments.

"I don't see any other options." She said.

They both eased back in their seats, contemplating their situation.

"What else do you remember about them?" Gary asked.

"They were both good-looking," she said; "probably brothers. Um, one was taller than the other with darker hair and…" she paused, chewing her lower lip tying to recall what she could about the hunters. Then her eyes lit up. "Oh, they had a really nice car," she said with surprising enthusiasm. "It was an older one, black; really very beautiful."

Gary's mouth went dry.

"Sonovabitch," he said, setting his plate on the coffee table a little harder than was necessary. He quickly recalled the Impala and knowing that her matching description of the vehicle and at least one if its passengers couldn't have been a coincidence. "I saw them."

"Where? When?" Bethany asked, surprised and excited setting down her own plate in the same manner. Gary was waiting for her to grab him by the shoulders and shake him to get the information.

"Last night and today," Gary said quickly and then remembered the reporter he'd treated and that he hadn't even told Bethany about her. "They were posing as Animal Control officers because they wanted to talk to this reporter that got attacked last night; said she's a friend of theirs."

"Was she bitten?" Bethany asked with reluctance in her voice.

"No, not as far as I can tell," he said. The relief on Bethany's face was instant and then the rest of Gary's words hit her.

Her pale brow furrowed in thought. "Could she be a hunter too?" Bethany said more to herself than to Gary.

"I don't know," he said. "The ambulance picked her up at the Freemont Hotel last night and…"

Bethany was already out of her seat and walking toward the door. She undressed as she went, but she never made a misstep. (Anybody else would probably have run into a wall.) Gary trailed behind, watching as her fingernails became longer and thicker. As she got to the door, she was completely bare but Gary didn't look away. Though most men would call him insane, he'd felt little desire for her. The first time he'd ever seen her in human form, she'd been a patient of sorts. After adoration, what he felt for her was a close cousin of fear; it was awe. He could barely fathom how something so beautiful possessed such power.

"Where are you going?" he asked. If he didn't already know the question was inane, the look Bethany gave him let him know it.

"If she's a hunter, she'll have weapons. I can go to her room now and a find out. Besides, even if she's not, at least I'll be able to pick up a fresh trail." Gary didn't miss the fact that her teeth were becoming sharper and that her ears were developing small tips.

"Don't you want me to drive?" He asked.

"No," she shook her head briskly, "I can get there faster if I run as the crow flies."

_As the crow flies?_ He thought.

"What about _clothes?_" he yelled after her; but she was out the door and gone. Was she going to break into another cabin? And if not, could a werewolf be convicted of indecent exposure?

WWW

Dean stuffed a shirt that had 'Fitch' written in dark letters into the duffel bag he assumed Val was using for clothing. He made a mental note to later make the 'F' look like a 'B' when he could get his hands on a marker or some electrical tape. _Since when did hunters where name-brand clothing?_

He carried the bags of Val's belongings outside to her nondescript, white Toyota and set them down before popping the trunk. The morning had been at least sunny but Mother Nature had apparently had a mood swing, because the sky was now thick with clouds that were probably holding rain. He threw the bags in the trunk and glanced around the parking lot. No one was in sight.

Sauntering around the back of the hotel and keeping an eye out for any prospective witnesses, he made his way to the dumpsters. He hadn't seen a single person since his arrival. _How does this place stay in business?_ He wondered_. Are they sacrificing people to werewolves? _

He decided that it was unlikely much for the same reasons he knew the town wasn't made up of werewolves; the deaths didn't occur on a specific time table and a lack of victims that could have been considered 'outsiders'. Taking another cursory glance around, and seeing no one, he flipped open the first dumpster lid and looked down grudgingly, not immediately seeing the knife or gun. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that he wasn't in sweltering, summer weather that would have made the trash reek.

Hoisting himself up, he felt the brim of the dumpster dig into the muscles of his torso as he tried to balance himself and move the trash bags around in search of the knife and .38. _So undignified,_ he thought. It would have been a very inopportune time for someone to sneak up behind him.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find the discarded weaponry. Taking a handkerchief out, he wrapped the knife in it carefully and then tucked it safely in his inside jacket pocket. He checked the revolver's bullet chambers –two of which were full –and then flicked the cylinder back into place with a movement of his wrist before putting it in his waistband.

He shut the dumpster and stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets after straightening the back of his jacket's collar the way he liked it. In his right hand, he felt the keys for Val's car, but his gaze wandered to his left, toward the edge of the woods. Sam had more than intimated that Dean should be back at the hospital by no later than five o'clock. Dean had simply shrugged and tried to ignore the look on Sammy's face. It was the expression that tried to be stern and unbending but beneath that was a young man, pleading.

It was only just after four o'clock and Dean was confident that he could make it from the Freemont to Adelson's and back to the hospital with time to spare. He doubted if the 'hunting party' he and Sam had seen earlier turned up anything useful and the weather that was apparently approaching would wipe away a good deal of clues. What could a little look around the woods hurt?

WWW

Sam sat in the hospital chair with a faux leather cushion that was an ungodly shade of green as he stared at a point on the floor; and Val sat in her bed dividing her attention between Sam and the window. A small yard sat outside her window and because the apple tree close by had lost most of its leaves, it afforded them a view of the small parking lot beyond as well as the rapidly declining weather.

_Don't be stupid, Dean,_ Sam thought. _Just get the stuff and come back._ Why did Dean choose that time to become a Rock-Paper-Scissors professional? And even worse; why did Sam select such a childish method of settling the dispute_? Because you thought for sure you'd win, stupid,_ Sam scolded himself. Dean had pointed out several reasons why the trip would be harmless but Sam had to struggle to convince himself of them. He exhaled through his nose. _He'll be fine,_ Sam told himself.

"So," Val said in voice that though quiet, seemed loud in the small room; "How'd you and your brother start?"

He looked over at Val whose attention was still focused on the window. In their line of work there was only one thing that question meant: What ripped your heart out and forced you to live this life?

He sat up straighter and debated what to tell her and at the same time wondered why she wanted to rake over the coals. To understand him and Dean better, maybe? He decided to tell her a very abridged version of the Winchester family's misfortunes; leaving out the part about Jess, and anything that had to do with Yellow Eyes and his blood.

He told her stories about spirits and corporeal beings that he and Dean had sent screaming back to whatever abyss they had come from. Some of the stories made her laugh and others seemed to make her ponder; maybe having stories told to her was what she wanted.

"You don't believe in aliens?" she said after Sam told her about the Trickster that had, for a period of time, made his and Dean's lives miserable.

"No," Sam said, smiling himself.

"Oh, come on," she said, "There's way more proof out there supporting alien life than most of the stuff you just told me about. I can't believe you don't believe in E.T.'s."

"What proof?" he asked, finding that there was humor in his voice.

They continued to banter and laugh about extraterrestrial life for a while but eventually, their chuckles died down to sighs.

"Ow," Val said, putting a hand up to one of the scratches on her face and letting out a breath. "That's gonna scar." She said in a way that said 'oh well, what's one more?'

Sam wondered what stigma the facial scars would leave Val with; perhaps they would match internal ones she bore already.

"What about you?" he asked after a minute.

SSS

Val expected Sam to ask that question of her but of all the things she expected to feel, relief wasn't one of them. She'd never had the chance to tell someone the honest-to-God truth about what had happened to her and her family and now she had no idea where to begin but she just let the words come to her.

"This wasn't even my fight to begin with; I was just kind of born into it. My mom lost her parents and…really, I suppose it was your basic werewolf-kills-woman's-family-woman-stocks-up-on-silver-bullets sort of story." Val tried to smile at her attempted joke, but she saw that Sam was watching her carefully with his intelligent, dark eyes and that he was really listening.

"Well, life as a hunter can get lonely I suppose," Val continued; "She met another hunter and about nine months later, I was born. By then she had split with him but probably never tried to settle down anywhere; she did the best she could –I know that –but I had the benefit of knowing that monsters aren't only in closets. She raised me and trained me for the sole purpose of killing werewolves, but no matter how much she pushed me to it, I thought there had to be a better life out there for me –_us _–somewhere." She saw Sam nod, she knew from the stories Sam had told her that he could relate.

"About a year ago, my mom got a call from my dad and then for a few months, it was like we were all one big, happy family. The family that slays together stays together, ya know?" She smiled but she doubted that distracted her audience from the fact that her eyes were welling with tears. "We were hunting a werewolf that was stirring up problems in Georgia and one night it got the drop on my dad. It scratched him up pretty good but that…_coward_ failed to mention that it bit him too."

She needed several minutes to compose herself before continuing in a voice that was still thick with emotion.

"The next night, we were stopped at a motel and he turned. We'd just fallen asleep and he woke us up. He tried to come after me but my mom got between us. Before she could get to her gun, he…he _bit_ her.

"It all happened in the space of seconds. I had left my gun in the trunk of our car but I barely had my knife unsheathed before my mom pushed him off and shot him in the heart three times and then…and then…" Fortunately, the nurses had earlier unhooked her from the heart-rate monitors as her heart rate was now escalating. "Then she turned the gun on herself. No goodbye, no anything; she just…she just…_smiled_ like she wanted to say 'I'm okay with this' and…she pulled the trigger. She never gave me the chance to try to help her."

Val wrestled with her features, trying to keep them from crying but she had so many conflicting emotions fighting for attention, that she could not keep them entirely bottled and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Although she knew it would do no good to save face, she turned hers away from Sam.

She had been angry at her mother, yes, but she blamed herself and the 'if only's' kept building up on her. In the end, after all her brooding, there was always that selfish relief that her mother hadn't asked Val to shoot her. In the end, her mother was still dead and the fight had been left to her.

WWW

All muscle and dark fur, Audra made her way to where she and Nathan had failed so miserably the previous night. Her father told her to recover the weapons that the hunter may or may not have lost. He said he didn't want to leave anybody any clues as to how to kill them. Though Audra didn't foresee the townspeople of Van Auledge supplying themselves with silver weaponry any time soon, she had simply nodded and went to carry out her 'mission'. No good would come of arguing with her alpha.

She continued on at what could be considered a jog and took in the evening. The woods were unnaturally quiet and the she-wolf took pleasure in knowing that she was the cause of it. Any birds that were chirruping as they roosted had ceased and while Audra could smell the previous presence of other creatures, nothing scurried. Then another scent caught her attention.

WWW

The site where Val had been ambushed was all very interesting, but it wasn't long before Dean abandoned it for the trail of the perpetrators. One set was similar to the one he'd followed the day before in that it was on all fours but this was the one had obviously been favoring its right hind leg and was going at a much slower pace. There was also a pair of very human foot prints that trailed closely along side the beast's.

He noted that these set of tracks were headed East, while the ones from the previous evening, he remembered, had been headed roughly North. Interesting. He looked at his watch; it was nearly five, which meant he had already spent far too much time on the trail and if he wanted at all to appease Sam in order to attempt avoiding an argument –not something he was ever very good at –he'd have to turn and walk back the way he came. Pronto.

The prints in the ground begged to be followed but the weather –Dean noticed that it was becoming quite crappy –and the speedily setting sun overruled his need to chase after something; he was slightly more compelled to return to civilization. _Not enough hours in the day_, his mind sighed.

Dean had walked a few steps and stopped when he heard a rumble from behind him; as much as he would have liked to, he wasn't able to entertain the possibility that it was a someone's dog who had run off or even more unlikely, a distantly rumbling engine. Slowly, he reached for his Colt.

WWW

"What would you have done if your father had bitten _you?_" The question was out of Sam's mouth before he could stop it. _I have a point though, don't I?_ He thought; because for a moment, he forgot what it was. He watched, rather embarrassed by his question as Val reacted to it.

Her eyes flickered over him with momentary anger but they quickly softened and shot downward to her blanket. "I would have done the same thing," she confessed in a whisper. "I would have put a bullet in my heart because she wouldn't have done it for me and she knew I couldn't have done it for her."

Sam heard the pain in her words, but he also sensed an acceptance in them. His question may have been rather unexpected or even unsympathetic, but maybe it needed to be asked. _Would I be able to shoot my own family?_ He allowed his mind ask the question, but hi his heart he knew that he would never willingly shoot his own flesh and blood and Dean had already more than proven that he would not either.

He looked at the clock on the wall; it was a few minutes after five o'clock. He felt worry begin to tie knots in his stomach; but it was that worry that he would hide behind a mask of fraternal irritation for as long as he possibly could.

WWW

Fugly.

It was a name Dean had called numerous creatures but the insult wouldn't apply to this thing, this werewolf. About thirty yards from him, the black beast rose from all fours to a height that dwarfed Dean. Not that he would have admitted it aloud, but it possessed an odd beauty. Its coat was so black it was bright. The muscles apparent beneath its black coat were bunched, poised to attack and its fangs glinted almost brilliantly in the half-light as it snarled at him.

He pointed the muzzle of his gun at it and fired a half-second too late. It veered to its right and Dean could see splinters fly from the branch of a birch instead of blood from the werewolf's chest.

It barreled toward him with inhuman speed and was practically on top of him by the time he had the chance to fire another round, which grazed its left shoulder. A small amount of blood sprayed backwards, but the animal kept coming.

The impact with which it hit him jarred his body viciously and he could only watch in horror as his gun flew from his hand. The two bodies slammed into the ground and the air was nearly driven from Dean's lungs. He was able to grasp hold of the animal's wrists and attempt to shove them away from him as best he could. Thrusting a leg upward, it connected with the werewolf's muscular abdomen.

Thankfully, it moved away enough for Dean to reach the .38 and pull it up. The thick-knuckled hand –each digit tipped with a claw –tried to swat the gun away but Dean had it in a death-grip. He ignored the pain in his forearm as claws sliced into it and pulled the trigger. This shot hit and took a chunk from its hip; it howled in pain and anger as it clapped its hands to the wound and glared from the blood pooling in its palms to Dean who regarded it with equal disgust and rage.

He hastily rose to his feet and leveled the Colt with the lycanthrope's chest and pulled the trigger.

_CLICK!_

That was never a good noise unless it was coming from the gun of your enemy, but this enemy didn't need guns, did it? The thing's ears flicked in his direction, followed by murderous golden eyes that leered at him. The corners of its muzzle drew upward and Dean swore it smiled. It knew what the sound meant too. He pulled the trigger two more times in rapid succession but with the same result. _A dud._

Every obscenity he knew rushed through his mind, but none verbalized in the split second before he was pinned against a tree by two deadly weapons that had probably, at some point in time that day, appeared to be entirely human. Claws dug into his shoulders but he tried not to give even the slightest indication of his discomfort. He tried to wrestle and kick his way free; once he was certain he'd caught the thing between the legs and in the back of his mind he was convinced his opponent was a female. After all, a dude was a dude.

Claws dug in deeper still and ivory jaws snapped shut a fraction of an inch from his face; it was a fairly clear message: _Hold still or I will bite your face off_. Fair enough; Dean liked his face right were it was.

Her eyes glared balefully into his. In them, knowledge fused itself with pure ire in a way that was truly frightening. They were eyes that watched so eagerly for prey and delighted in watching that poor, stupid, hunted thing suffer until the gruesome end finally came. Dean refused to become its prey.

_Screw it_, he thought.

With his fist balled around the handle of the .38 and swung upward, slamming metal and fist into her skull with a solid, _thud_. It must have been a good hit because the wolfish head snapped to one side, although Dean didn't get the chance to appreciate it. The claws in his right shoulder dug in hard and then ripped through leather, cloth, flesh and muscle; Dean clenched his jaws shut, trying to keep a scream trapped behind his teeth as he felt the sickening sensation of claws scraping over his clavicle.

"You _bitch!_" he growled, meaning it in every sense of the word.

He watched as the bright-black animal began to circle him. _You're being played with,_ he told himself as he instinctively began to move his feet, countering the werewolf's motion and ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

Keeping the beast in his sights, he searched his periphery frantically for his Colt but didn't see a hopeful silver glint on the ground. His boot hit something substantial on the ground and he didn't need to look to know that it was a branch. _Okay, not silver, but it's better than nothing,_ he thought. Crouching and continuing to move, he traded the gun for branch and gripped it in both hands, fully prepared to take a swing as the wolf continued to circle.

The anticipatory tensing of his muscles, his steady breathing, his measured movements, the odd, oily tickle of blood slowly creeping down his chest; all of it was preamble to more bloodshed and the waiting was making him wild.

_"Come on!"_ he shouted. And with a snarl, she obliged.

The beast came at him with inhuman speed but like a batter timing a fastball, he swung the branch and hit its target. She staggered to the side and shook her head as though in denial that she had been struck. Her lips twitched and curled upward, again baring its malicious, white fangs. Irate, she lunged at him again with flailing appendages and again Dean landed a blow to her head.

Now on all fours, she began to circle again, crouching low as she folded her ears back on her skull and the hair on her full rough stood straight on end.

"Sorry," Dean said. "My heart belongs to someone else." It was a blatant lie, he knew, but in that situation, it seemed to be as good a thing to say as any. He felt the bark of the branch dig into his hands as he clutched it tightly, awaiting the next attack.

Staying low, the werewolf ran at him. This time, Dean stabbed at it in a downward arc but at the last second, she dodged to her right. The motion was slight, but it was enough to knock Dean off balance and that was all it took.

SSS

Though adrenaline fueled her rapid movement, Bethany was no less exhilarated by her run through the woods. Her muscles expanded and retracted; she went faster and faster, drawing nearer and nearer to her destination.

The wind shifted and with the chilly gust came the unmistakable scent of blood that had just been spilt and beneath that was the familiar musk that her species bore. Her canine brain told her to move faster and her body readily complied.

SSS

Dean felt his body steadily loosing strength as he struggled beneath the monster that held him down by the throat with one hand and was taking her time digging into his midriff with the other. He knew that the thing could have reduced him to confetti several times over if she had so chosen, but she was clearly enjoying his every involuntary cry of pain and the feeling of his tender flesh tearing beneath her claws.

He kicked with his left leg –the one that was still uninjured –and hit and fought with his left arm while his right arm tried futilely to pry the werewolf's iron grip off of him. The lack of oxygen caused blackness to dot his vision but everything went red when white-hot pain sliced into his abdomen. He screamed and blood spilled as his back lifted from the ground but there was a roar that came from his right, drowning him out. Then the black wolf wasn't there; she was seemingly thrown to the side.

Dean's head flopped to the side and he saw two animals, black and white, crash to the ground with such force that Dean thought it shook. Leaves, sticks and dirt flew into the air as the beasts clawed and bit at each other in a frenzy of muscle and fang. The interruption was short-lived, though; he was dragged back to a much smaller world of wholly felt, physical pain.

Struggling, he pushed with his left leg and his elbows and slid backward on his rump until he was able to prop himself up against a tree trunk, every movement, agony. He realized he was breathing fast and concentrated on regulating it. Feeling the warmth of his own blood as it flowed from wounds and blanketed him, he was afraid of what he would see if he looked down.

SSS

After allowing her momentum to build, the white wolf bowled the black one over with little difficulty; her feral mind barely realized the man on the ground. Silver and golden eyes glinted at each other with mutual hate for the briefest of moments before the two melded together in a furor of snarls and wildly thrashing, limbs.

The white wolf's jaws sank into the black one's shoulder and she squealed in yipped in pain. With a burst of energy that caught Bethany off guard, the larger female twisted in her grip and managed to free herself. The two circled, teeth bared and claws ready to rend flesh; the darker animal made the first move, flying at the other, older werewolf. Bethany moved to the side and used the black wolf's momentum to shove her to the ground and pin her there again.

They both snarled and snapped at each other and Bethany soon found teeth embedded in her right forearm; she relinquished her grip slightly but that was enough for the other to begin to wriggle away. Bethany snarled in anger and lunged after her hastily; finding purchase on a haunch and twisting her head back and forth, trying to inflict on her opponent as much pain as possible. The ebony animal whirled around with dizzying speed and slashed claws into Bethany's muzzle but Bethany only bit down harder.

The other werewolf then twisted around further and tried her best to ravage Bethany's side, staining her ivory coat crimson. Bethany let her hold go and then clashed head on with a wall of muscle intent on ripping her to shreds.

SSS

Alice Freemont sat at the front desk of her parents' hotel trying to hide the fact that she was trembling, if not from anyone who walked through the door then from herself; she was failing miserably. She prayed that she was just imagining the din coming from the woods; that finding the girl the previous night had caused her mind to manifest the wild snarls.

Was there anyone else in Van Auledge cowering in a room, hoping they were crazy just because the alternative was so much worse? She knew that even if there were others, no one would discuss lycanthropes around the breakfast table the next morning. She would do what the rest of her town was doing: Pretend the problem didn't exist until it came scratching at your door.

SSS

_You're not in such good shape, dude_, Dean told himself, and then almost laughed at the mental understatement.

Holding the bandana to his stomach, he watched the two monsters clash. Was that what all the commotion in Van Auledge was about? A turf war between werewolves? He lacked the strength to cover the distance back to the hotel; should he call Sam and drag his little brother into the thick of a situation that he himself should have avoided? _You've gotta get the bleeding stopped, man,_ he reminded himself.

As he weighed his options, he found himself mesmerized by the ferocity with which the animals joined each other in combat. Though the white one was noticeably smaller than the other, it seemed to have the upper hand…or paw, or whatever. Dean saw the claws of the white werewolf carve bloody lines into the black one's abdomen and somewhere in himself, he felt a jolt of righteous pleasure. Not that he wouldn't have killed both of them in a heartbeat, but he found himself rooting for the white team.

The two creatures tumbled in a ridiculous white and black parody of a yin-yang and then the one that Dean had mentally dubbed 'Snowball' had the other (Dean had a few choice names for her.) by the throat. _Yes!_ He thought; but just as it appeared the black wolf was going to meet her end, she apparently delved deep into its reserves of lycanthropic power and freed herself from Snowball's grasp. Dean saw the black wolf's golden eyes and he knew that she knew that she had met her match. She turned and with a tail tucked between her hind legs, she ran.

New pain –or, perhaps pain that the fight had distracted him from –swelled within him and his breath caught in his throat. He didn't notice Snowball's ears twitch backwards in his direction.

SSS

The white wolf watched as the black wolf fled and had to struggle to keep herself from pursuing the other female. Every ounce of her still wanted to rip and bite and claw but the sounds from about thirty feet away drew her attention to the man who, in her riled state, she vaguely recognized as being one of the hunters. His jaws were shut tight and he was drawing short, ragged breaths in and out his nose. As if trying to keep time with his breathing, he moved his head forward and backward so that it lightly struck the tree trunk he was leaning against, undoubtedly trying to distract himself from the hurt.

His pained, rhythmic breaths seemed to draw her closer and as she approached, his gaze centered on her and while fear was there in his eyes, there was also the look of a determined man who seemed to _dare_ her to come any closer.

She took his scent in. Concealed beneath his relative calm was the intoxicating reek of panic. That combined with the rich, metallic redolence of his pooling blood made her salivate…

SSS

Dean watched as the white wolf came closer and closer. It had won and now he guessed that he was its prize. He tightened his grip on the knife in his hand but even that seemed to take too much of his precious energy. He didn't kid himself into thinking he'd be able to fight it off, but at least he could get a few stabs in; he would go out fighting like he always swore to himself he would. He'd always considered that a promise he could live up to

_I'm sorry, Sammy_, he thought. _I shoulda listened to you and now I'm gonna be kibble_. Sam was going to be alone; that was the thought that hurt Dean the most. Sammy, who only had his best interests in mind had tried to reason with him but Dean just did as he damn well pleased. Dean's subconscious manifested itself in Sam's voice. _You're just being a stubborn jerk_, it said. His own mental voice wanted to call the other a bitch, but the only bitch around was the one that was eyeing him like a steak.

_Steak wouldn't be very good if it's frozen, though_, he thought dazedly as he realized how cold his body felt.

It was odd to think that a short while ago, the blood that had been flowing through his veins was now staining his clothes and the ground, getting tacky in the chilled, evening air. He heard a noise and barely realized it came from him.

SSS

The white wolf heard the noise he made in his throat; it was so full of hurt that it reached beyond her animal instinct and gripped her heart, bringing out her other, more human side. She blinked her wolfen eyes and it seemed the small movement allowed her to see things more objectively: He was going to die.

Emotions and instincts flooded her. She had wanted to beseech this man for help and now here he was, bleeding out. Tearing his throat out right then and there would probably be the kindest thing to do; just put him out of his misery, because she knew that what hunters feared more than anything else, was becoming the things they waged war against. The thought of tearing living, bleeding flesh appealed to her canine brain; it was something she rarely indulged in aside from the occasional deer.

Bethany shoved the thoughts away. Looking at the bloody ruin of his body made her hurt for him. If the other wolf had bitten him, she couldn't tell; but on a base level, she knew that if he had been bitten, he wouldn't be dying.

His right thigh had been horribly sliced open as well as his right shoulder; and she noted less serious lacerations on his arms. Because he kept his right hand over his belly, trying to staunch the bleeding with a kerchief that was by that time, completely saturated with blood, she could not see the extent of the injuries, but she guessed that his abdomen had suffered the brunt of the assault.

Time was not a luxury she or the hunter had. She knew she couldn't leave him to suffer alone in the dark and cold and she knew that she could make him physically whole again; but at the same time, she wondered what would be the crueler fate in his eyes.

Impulse won out. She would help him the only way she knew how.

SSS

Only the pain reminded Dean that looking into the wolf's eyes was not a dream. They were just as sharp and brilliant as the knife in his left hand and…_hadn't Sam said something about a wolf's eyes? What had he said?_ Dean let out a harsh breath through his mouth which only brought on a fresh wave of dizzying pain. Why was something like that going through his mind? _Because you're dying_, his mind answered bluntly.

He willed his arm to move but his shredded muscles screamed and he groaned, but that didn't stop him from trying again. This time, the knife rose; which only resulted in the wolf's ears pricking up.

He tried to swing the knife at it, but his hand was caught, almost delicately in the clawed, calloused hands of the predator. It seemed to look at the weapon curiously but then grabbed it from him and discarded it. He watched as the blade fell to the dirt, his heart falling with it.

A chill went through his core. _So this is how it ends_, he thought as his chest hitched and he continued staring into the wolf's eyes. An odd, but not unexpected flood of relief washed over him. _Goodbye, Sammy_, he thought.

SSS

Bethany took his cold, pale hand in her own and raised it up to her muzzle. For the first time, true fear showed in the hunter's eyes as her intentions dawned on him. Weakly, he tried to pull away but it was pitifully easy to keep him there. A murmur of a protest reached her ears and she wished she could say something to him; comfort him, but her wolf's tongue would not permit her to speak. She placed the hand in her mouth and bit down gently; just enough to draw blood.

"No," He said in a voice that sounded sickened, enraged and broken all in the same miserable note.

Just that one syllable cut into her. She had been taught only to turn those who were worthy, the strong, the…Bethany pushed her old lessons from her mind; she swore she'd never make another like her, but for the sake of the town she loved, she violated that and had probably robbed the man that sat before her of a hunter's proper fate.

She didn't know how long they sat there, looking into each others' eyes but his hazel gaze was quickly dimming. His head bobbed up and down as he tried to remain conscious but the combination of blood loss and her bite was far too much for him to overcome. She felt an odd sense of relief when his chin finally rested on his chest. He was a fighter; that much was certain.

She looked at his inert form and let out a keening, whine; she was so very sorry for what she had just done to him. What would she do now?

She breathed slowly, deeply and commanded her muscles to relax and re-form themselves until she was a much smaller, pale form on the ground. As the night set in almost completely, and she sat there with her legs folded beneath her, everything was quiet until something on the hunter began making noise that her human ears recognized as rock music. She had jumped at the sudden noise, but she quickly realized it wasn't a threat to her or the unconscious man.

Sidling yet closer, she reached into the pocket the noise was coming from and withdrew a cellular phone. Its screen glowed and the words: _Sam's Cell Calling _were displayed on it. 'Sam' was likely the other hunter and –if her previous guess was correct –the brother of the injured man and that was just another dilemma.

Should she answer the call? No, of course not, answering the call would only bring more questions that she would not be able to answer; and how would 'Sam' react to the news of his brother? Would he come after her and then hunt his brother as steadfastly as any other monster? Or would he be sympathetic to her cause? She doubted it.

She wondered how deep a bond the two men shared.

She looked at the little machine in the palm of her hand as it stopped ringing. At least the phone solved one problem.

WWW

Sam paced outside the well-lit front entrance of the hospital; he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. _Damn it!_ He thought; Dean didn't just _not_ answer his phone. He huffed a breath out of his mouth and his bangs fluttered upward. Sam hoped Dean had just stopped off at some restaurant, and was seducing some girl but the knots of worry in his stomach cautioned him otherwise. There was work to be done and that wasn't something Dean forgot.

Sam took his phone out and redialed his brother's number and continued to pace with the phone digging into his ear as though he could wedge himself into it, travel the line of the connection and get to Dean.

There was a busy signal.

WWW

Gary nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang. Because neither he nor Bethany kept a crowded social calendar and Bethany wasn't there, he had little difficulty guessing who would be on the other line. He swiped the phone off of its cradle and before he could even so much as utter a 'hello', Bethany's desperate voice came over the line.

"I need your help!" she said in a shaky, unsure tone that was so unlike her.

Gary's heart leapt into his throat.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, needing to know the answer to that question before he could begin to think of anything else.

"No," she said, although her answer sounded more like a question.

"Where are you?"

"I, uh…I'm close to the Freemont Hotel so, uh, just park there and I'll meet you."

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked as he picked the keys to his Santa Fe.

"Yeah, but Gary; bring the first aid kit and hurry…please."

**A/N: So…how'd ya like it? I've noticed that people have compared how much they like getting reviews to their favorite food (i.e. chocolate), so I thought I may as well do that too. Reviews, to me, are like pizza! The cheese, sauce, pepperoni and crust all meld together to create the perfect dining experience as well as providing me with sustenance. In much the same way, your reviews –your advice, and excellent readership –give me the encouragement to continue to improve upon my craft.**

**Okay, so now that that's out of my system (and as you probably wonder how high my cholesterol level is), I can tell you about the only pop-culture reference in this chapter: Well, it wasn't really a reference per se, but the scene where Dean kicked the werewolf between the legs is sort of nod to the 1987 movie, **_**Monster Squad**_**. It's a movie about these kids who have a monster club and when monsters (Dracula et. all) actually show up, it's up to them to save the day; it's rated PG-13 and really isn't intended for little kids. In the movie, the kids have an argument about whether or not the Wolf Man (played by Jonathan Gries who also played a werewolf in Fright Night Part II) has 'nards'. (I'll give you two guesses as to what 'nards' are.) At one point, the kids get the chance to settle the matter once and for all; and as it turns out, the Wolf Man does indeed have 'nards'. I absolutely adore **_**Monster Squad**_**; it's really funny and some of the special effects aren't bad. **

**Did all of you like what Dean was going to do to Val's 'Fitch' shirt? It was a little prank I pulled on one of my younger sisters and while I was writing this chapter, the scene just kind of appeared. **

**Oh, I thought I'd mention also, that this AU fanfic won't really contain any SPN episode references beyond 'A Very Supernatural Christmas'. Really, I'm just picking what moments would be best for affect. (People do that, though, right?) So, it's like this: If I mention something, it exists in this little AU world and if not; it doesn't. (You have my permission to give me a metaphorical smack upside the head if I'm coming off as a little bit megalomaniacal; it'll keep me grounded!)**

**In later chapters, there'll be some sick!unhinged!Dean and of course angsty!Sam (and possibly a little whumped!Sam too). What can I say? Insert sarcastic eye-roll I'm a people-pleaser. But in all seriousness, folks, have a great day (or night, or whenever you're reading this), and Happy Writing/Reading!**

**I'll be working on the next chapter; but just remember: Patience is a virtue! (And that school's a pain in the ass.) And to anyone who hasn't yet read the happy news: New episodes are supposed to start April 24****th****! (See? It pays to read A/N's.) **


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